


Irish Coffee

by TheNerdPrincess



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Addiction recovery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Barista OFC, Best Friends, Canon-Typical Violence, Coffee Shops, Drug Addiction, F/M, Fluff, HOH MC, Hard of hearing main character, Kinda, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, also I know the BAU is supposed to be set in quantico but in this fic its in DC, family trauma, fluffy first chapters slowly developing into a darker fic more canon-typical, it isnt the focus though, just imagine their offices in the FBI HQ, quantico is boring and DC is cool hot take
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerdPrincess/pseuds/TheNerdPrincess
Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her.Set mid season 2.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 92





	1. Mocha, Extra Sugar

_“A 'first meeting' is, by definition, a one-time opportunity, and there's no going back.”_

_Cup, counter, look up, smile, call out drink, next customer._

“One cafe latte!” 

I looked up with a bright smile even though my feet were aching in my non-slip shoes. Thankfully it was near the end of the afternoon rush, and I should be able to go on break after finishing with the last customer in line.

The businessman in front of me hadn’t stopped talking on his bluetooth the entire time he was here, which made it annoyingly difficult to take his order. Without looking, he grabbed at his coffee. His hand glanced off the cup and I watched it topple in slow motion. The lid flew off and hot coffee sprayed over the whole counter.

Both the businessman and I jumped back, avoiding the scalding liquid.

“Ah, shit — one second Dave,” the man scowled. “What the hell?”

I fixed a smile on my face.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir, let me make you another.”

“No, no,” he looked at his watch and his scowl deepened. “Forget about it. I won’t be coming back!”

 _Oh no, whatever will we do without your business,_ I thought sarcastically, maintaining a perfectly happy expression.

With that he turned and hurried out the door, jostling the man waiting behind him. I crouched to grab a towel and somewhere above me he said something, but the words blended with the music floating through the shop. 

“What did you say?” I asked as I looked up, hoping I’d be able to discern what he said. I couldn’t help but smile as my breath caught in my throat. The man standing at my counter must not have been too much older than me. His hair was long enough to brush past the nape of his neck but he had the soft brown curls tucked neatly behind his ears. Flicking his tongue over his bottom lip he gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He wore a cardigan over a dress shirt and tie, and a brown crossbody bag gave his hands something to fiddle with.

“Ah, I just said he wasn’t having a very good day,” he said, blinking a few times as his eyes slipped over the counter. He seemed to notice everything at once, and I hoped he didn’t think anything of the way my gaze flicked to his lips as he spoke before I met his eyes again. He had a cute cupid’s bow, and as someone who sees a lot of lips I feel qualified in saying they were nice lips.

I used the counter to help me to my feet and began to mop up the coffee.

“Apparently not,” I said, taking care to not accidentally push any coffee towards the customer. “Sorry about that, what can I get you, sir?”

I paused and looked up while he spoke, leaning on my lip reading as the music muddied his voice. 

“A large mocha please,” he said, shifting a little as if he were nervous. “And could you stir some extra sugar into it while it’s hot? The, uh, the extra heat helps the sugar dissolve so there’s no little granules at the bottom.”

_Huh, I didn’t know that._

“Sure thing, sugar,” I replied with a bright smile, happy to learn something new and relieved to have a pleasant customer after an hour of government drones rushing in and out as fast as possible. I turned and began the drink, glancing back as I waited for the milk to heat. The man had ducked his head, reading a slim book while he waited. His free finger ran down the page and he muttered to himself as he flipped page after page. 

_He probably read a whole chapter in the time it took me to make his drink!_

I couldn’t help but let my admiration show a little as I set said drink in front of him. 

“One mocha, extra sugar,” I said as he looked up. I leaned my elbows on the counter.

“Whatchya reading?”

He blinked a few times, glancing down at the book as if he had forgotten he was holding it. 

“Oh, uh, it’s Sygdommen til Døden, it’s a book of Christian existentialism by Søren Kierkegaard. It presents the question that death isn’t the end, and true death is spiritual, not physical,” he rattled off in an instant. I stumbled over a few of the forgeign words, but I was able to put the sentence together with context.

The man stopped speaking just as quickly, a light pink spreading over his cheeks as he ducked his head. Leaning over the counter, I stole a peek at the pages he had been tearing through.

“Kierkegaard, in the original Danish too! Impressive,” I said, returning to my side of the counter. “Are you a philosophy student?”

He nodded, almost unsurely. “Yeah, I’m working on my BA now.”

I grinned at him. A fellow academic, I could appreciate a kindred spirit. 

“I haven’t made it to Kierkegaard yet,” I admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “Still working through Plato and Hegel.”

He seemed to perk up a little, eyes sparkling. “They’re good!” he exclaimed. “Hegel’s theory of dialectics strongly influenced the work of Karl Marx. Because Hegal claimed that reality should be examined by a series of logical and rational arguments, Marx created the theory we now know as historical materialism,” he caught himself and the pink on his cheeks deepend to red. “...sorry, I ramble sometimes. Are you a philosophy student as well...” he glanced at the nametag pinned to my apron, “Katie?”

I pursed my lips in what I hoped passed for a smile and not a pained grimace, avoiding his eyes to wipe a few stray drops of coffee away. This man’s gaze made me feel like he could see everything about me with just a glance, but it helped that his dark honey-brown eyes held no malice that I could see. That and the fact that he seemed more nervous around me than anything.

“Nope!” I forced some cheerfulness into my voice. “Not yet, at least.”

He opened his mouth a little, as if he was about to reply, when his attention was suddenly drawn away. Shifting his book he pulled a phone out of his pocket, flipped it up, and answered.

“Reid,” he said. I turned the name around in my mind. I wondered how he spelled it, ei or ee. 

He pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear, stuffing Sygdommen til Døden into his bag and picking up his coffee.

 _Sorry_ he mouthed to me, and he did look apologetic. Hoping he knew not to worry about it I gave him a big smile and watched as he hurried out the door, returning the phone to his hand and striding off down the sidewalk. I let out a wistful sigh and grabbed a cleaning spray and paper towels to go over the counter again. If only everyone who came through this coffee shop’s doors was as interesting and pleasant as that Reid. 

_And as easy on the eyes,_ I thought, biting my lip to hold back a girlish giggle. 

I glanced up at the clock on the wall opposite the counter. Just a few more hours until closing, then a quick bus ride to the diner. Everyone in the cafe was taken care of, so I gave myself a few minutes to get off my feet.

Pulling my phone out of my apron pocket I opened my bank account.

 _Starting to pull ahead,_ I thought with a tired relief. I wouldn’t be quitting any time soon, but my savings account was finally starting to look a little healthier. I closed out of the app and stared at my background.

It was a picture of my mother and I. I couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7, and I was wearing the biggest smile a little kid could manage. My mother was holding my hand, her smile matching mine. Behind us rose the stairs and columns of the National Gallery in London. I traced my mother’s face for a moment, then shut my phone off and slipped it back into my pocket.

The hands of the clock moved slowly for the rest of my shift. People drifted in and out, none staying longer than a few moments. The sun fell behind DC’s towering skyline, and as the sunlight disappeared it felt like my energy went with it. By the time the last customer waved goodbye and I wiped the last table down the room was swaying around me. I glanced at my watch.

_Ten hours since breakfast, medication is beginning to wear off._

I slid out a seat and took a few deep breaths. My stomach wasn’t pleased but it settled after a minute off my feet. Once the room was steady again I stood and finished closing the shop. As the lock clicked into place behind me I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. It felt like being battered by ocean waves. 

My feet carried me to the street corner and I slumped against the sign indicating the bus stop. 

_I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this._

I found myself stifling a yawn. 

The bus pulled up and stopped with a screech of brakes that instantly had me clinging to the signpost in pain. The cold, dirty metal cutting into my hand had nothing on the high-pitched scream that bounced around my head, multiplying and hitting the inside of my skull harder and harder. Biting my tongue to stop from crying out, I pushed off the sign and stumbled onto the bus. Over the ringing in my ears I heard a muffled voice saying something. It was as if the voice was speaking to me underwater.

“I-I’m sorry…” I stuttered, forcing myself to breathe. Hands shaking, I fumbled through my bag and pulled out my wallet, finding my bus card. I shoved it in the direction of the driver, who only gave it a cursory glance and waved it away.

“--- --- --kay?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few more deep breaths, the painful ringing dying down to an aching headache, and looked up at the driver. Somehow I had ended up slumped on the floor by the door. The old bus driver, Connie, was leaning over me, concern etched in the deep wrinkles across his face.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Connie” I said, tripping over myself to apologize and get up off the filthy floor. 

“Hey, that’s alright Katie,” he replied kindly, offering me a hand which I gratefully accepted. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” I sighed deeply, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “It was-”

“The breaks, right?”

“Yup,” I popped my ‘p’, shaking my head sadly as I returned my bus card to my wallet. “Still figuring out how to manage it all.”

“You’ll get there,” he replied, setting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I gave him a weak smile and moved to a seat while he closed the door and released the breaks, pulling out into the road. There weren’t many people on the bus, all the commuters had gone home already in an attempt to beat the very traffic they created. The only people left in DC as stars began to blink to life in the sky were those who called the city home.

As the bus rumbled away around me I let myself slump into the seat, chin dropping to my chest and eyelids closing. Before I knew it I had slipped into a shallow sleep.

—

A gentle hand pushing my shoulder roused me and I started awake to see Connie’s face once again.

“Hey kiddo, you fell asleep,” he said. I stretched out my cramped muscles.

“Thanks for waking me up,” I replied. “I owe you.”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Just get me one of those coffees you make and we’ll be even.”

I nodded.

“You got it.”

Connie slid back into his seat and gave me a two-fingered salute, which I returned as I disembarked. Then the bus pulled away and left nothing but the crisp fall breeze, scented with exhaust and that peculiar smell every big city has. Adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, I walked the half-block to a neon-rimmed 24/7 diner. 

A few moments later I stepped into the syrup-steeped diner. 

“Katie! Boy am I glad to see you,” a woman a bit older than me bustled out of the kitchen, arms loaded down with plates piled with pancakes.

“Right back atchya Liz!” I grinned, my exhaustion temporarily lessened at the appearance of one of my best friends.

“Busy night?” I asked when we had both made it to the back room. 

“Very,” Liz exhaled, pushing a few strands of silky black hair away from her face. “It’s started to calm down a little now, mostly just regulars and some college students from the U.”

“That shouldn’t be too bad then,” I replied, slowly standing and stretching my arms above my head. “I’d better get out there.”

Liz shook her head with a smirk. “Girl, you work too hard.”

I gave her a tired grin. “Without labor, nothing prospers.”

She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. 

“This another one of your old philosophy dudes?”

“Nah, this one’s an old playwright dude.”

“You and your old dudes, when are you gonna take interest in a guy from this century?”

My thoughts flickered to the cute guy from the coffee shop, with his beautiful curls and Danish Kierkegaard book, but it was my turn to shake my head.

“Who’d take interest in me anyways?" I joked. "Not like I have time for anyone.”

“Without labor, nothing prospers,” Liz repeated back to me. 

I touched my nose and pointed to her.

“Damn right.”

“Alright, alright,” she conceded. “Let’s get our labor on.”

With Liz by my side the first hour of my shift passed quickly, but then ten o’clock came and she bid me goodbye, filtering out with the rest of the regulars. Before long it was just the college kids gathered at two tables in the back corner, heads bent over textbooks and notes. As long as I kept the coffee and snacks coming they were happy and quiet, which was fine by me.

Around 2 am one of the students came up to the counter, asking for more fruit.

“What’re you guys studying?” I asked as I handed over the pre-prepared fruit cup and accepted her cash.

“Architecture,” she replied, and her attempt at a smile looked almost as tired as I felt. 

“Keep at it,” I said, slipping another fruit cup to her with a wink. She nodded gratefully and returned to the tables, passing the extra fruit to the boy next to her.

Finally the clock ticked over to 3 am and my replacement arrived. There was little more I could do than give him a tired wave as I gathered my things and wrapped up in an old coat, preparing myself for the cold night. 

_Thank goodness my apartment is only a few blocks away,_ I thought, taking a bracing lungful of air. It was a path I was familiar with after two years of walking it almost every night, and a good thing too, because I was half asleep on my feet. I don’t even remember most of the walk, dozing as I was, and by the time I got to my blue apartment door it was all I could do to get my key in the lock and inside. Locking the door behind me I let my purse slip to the floor and took the five steps to my bed, collapsing on top of the blankets. With my last ounce of energy I fished my hearing aid out of my ear, setting it carefully on my bedside table.

“I did it, mom,” I mumbled into my pillow, fingertips brushing the silver photo frame beside my hearing aid.

“Another day done.”

And with that, I slipped into a deep sleep.

Hours later my alarm rang. I woke up, never feeling rested enough but determined to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I felt grimy after falling asleep in my work clothes, so I treated myself to a long shower, luxuriating in the steam billowing up around me. I scrubbed myself clean and spent a few extra minutes soaking in the hot water. My aching muscles relaxed a little and I felt a bit better when I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel. After drying and dressing I slipped my hearing aid in and squared my shoulder, ready to face the day.

And so time went on. It was three days before I saw Reid again.


	2. Closing Time

_“Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer.”_

_\- Ed Cunningham_

It had been a tiring Thursday, which is saying something. Thursdays were the one day a week I only worked at the coffee shop, just coming in for a few hours to close, meaning it was the closest thing I had to a day off. That being said, somehow the denizens of DC had decided _this_ was the Thursday to descend on this coffee shop and just...be assholes. My head ached from the amount of focus and energy it took to process complaints and orders simultaneously while making drinks and keeping the cafe clean.

_It might only be a three hour shift, but sometimes it’s a long three hours._

I finished wiping down the table in front of me and stood, arching my back to stretch it out. 

I’m not sure what caught my attention. A flicker of movement, perhaps, or maybe just the sense of someone else nearby.

I glanced towards the front of the store, scanning the city street on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows.

And there he was.

He looked a little worse for wear, his clothes wrinkled and hair mussed, as if he had only slept briefly and in uncomfortable places. Light spilled from the streetlamp above him, his high cheekbones casting harsh shadows across his skin.

His eyes widened a little as she spotted him, guilty and embarrassed.

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face upon seeing him. He intrigued me, and...I'll admit it, I thought he was cute. The door was still unlocked and I waved for him to come inside. 

_Maybe my Thursday is starting to look up!_

He seemed confused at my gesture, glancing over his shoulder and pointing a hesitant finger to his chest.

 _“Me?”_ he mouthed, eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown.

I rolled my eyes and grinned, quickly making my way to the door and holding it open with one arm. Cool air rolled in off the street, ruffling a few flyaways around my face.

“Come on in!” I exclaimed. “We don’t close properly for another ten minutes.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket, rocking back on his heels a little.

“Are you sure? You-you probably already cleaned everything and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Don’t be silly,” I smiled. “Just come in, sugar.”

He ducked his head and stepped inside. I watched his shoulders relax slightly as he stopped a few feet into the store.

“What can I get ya?” I asked, crossing to behind the counter. His eyes flicked from the menu to me and he tilted his head a little, as if in confusion. I felt my lips twitch in a small smile.

_I wonder what he’s thinking, he looks baffled…_

“Sir?” I asked, thinking it was perhaps not a good idea to let on that I overheard and remembered his name.

“Why do you call me sugar?” He asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory or upset, simply curious. My cheeks reddened slightly.

“Well, that’s your order, right? Uh...large mocha with extra sugar?”

He nodded, a pretty frown still wrinkling his forehead.

“You remembered?”

I looked down, chuckling a little. 

“It’s not every day a nice man reading danish philosophy comes in and is kind enough to talk to me like a person,” I said honestly.

More confusion from the man before me. I worried that I had said too much, scared him off. I serve hundreds of people a day, remembering one customer might come across as creepy or weird or-

He cut off my train of thought as he spoke.

“You think I’m nice?”

The question was genuine, he blinked a few times like he was having trouble processing what I said.

“...yeah,” I laughed a little. “I mean, I obviously don’t _know_ you, but I get feelings about people. My feeling is that you’re nice.”

“Huh,” he said, eyes returning to the menu above me.

“So…” I gently prompted him. “What can I get you? Same thing?”

“Oh! Yeah, same thing please.”

“Have a seat anywhere!”

It only took me a minute to finish making the drink, and instead of calling it out at the counter I walked it to his table.

He looked up as I set the drink in front of him, giving me a closed-lip smile and wrapping long, delicate fingers around the warm cup.

“Reid,” he commented into his cup. I almost missed it. “Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s my name.”

 _Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s a nice name_ , I decided.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Reid,” I said with a smile. “Katie, but, you already knew that.” He nodded and looked back down at his coffee. 

“Let me know if I can get you anything else, Doctor,” I said, then turned to finish closing. He seemed like the quiet type who preferred to be alone, or maybe he’d just had a long day.

“Uh, Sp—” he said as I turned around, so quiet that I missed most of what he said.

“Sorry?” I turned around, pushing some hair back towards the ponytail it had slipped out of.

He looked up and his gaze swept over me, analytical and probing. I found myself nervously twisting my apron tie around my fingers.

 _What is he looking for? What does he see?_

“You wear a hearing aid,” he said matter-of-factly.

_Oh._

I nodded silently, my face falling before I could catch it.

 _What’s he going to say? Berate me? Mock me?_ My thoughts were perhaps a tad more bitter than intended, and I tried to keep that out of my voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, cringing inwardly at how flat I sounded. “I can’t pick up certain frequencies.”

“You know,” he said, taking one hand off his coffee cup as he began to gesture with his words. “The use of hearing aids has actually been proven to reduce cognitive decline and lower the risk of developing dementia.”

 _What’s he doing?_ I thought, thrown off a little, but not upset by this turn of events. _Is he...trying to make me feel better?_

“There was a study conducted in Europe, two out of three people who used hearing aids wished they had gotten them sooner,” Spencer continued, both hands involved in his gestures now. I began to fear for his coffee. 

“They lead to a better social life, mental and physical health, and job performance. So...it’s a good thing. That you have them.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I accepted, watching him with a small smile. He seemed embarrassed after his small outburst.

I gestured to the chair across from him.

“May I?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his sugary drink.

“So,” I said, taking a seat. “You’re studying philosophy but you’re also a doctor. How’s that work?”

If I thought he looked embarrassed a moment ago, he was downright flustered now.

“I, uh…” he fiddled with the cardboard protector around his coffee cup. “I _am_ a philosophy student,” he said. “But I already have my doctorates in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. And another bachelor’s in Psychology.”

He suddenly fell silent, eyes fixed on the steam coiling out of the slit in the cup’s lid. I couldn’t keep my impressed admiration off my face, smiling as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to process something to say.

After I hadn’t replied for a few seconds he looked up at me from beneath his lashes. He was almost wincing, as if bracing himself for ridicule, mockery, disgust.

 _Just like you,_ my mind prompted. 

I gave him a wide grin and set my folded hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

“Doctor R— Spencer. That’s amazing, you don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m 26,” he replied, almost automatically, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“That’s _amazing_ ,” I emphasized. “You’re amazing, that’s a huge accomplishment.”

I watched a light shade of pink spread up his cheeks.

“Oh, uh...thank you,” he said unsurely.

_Waiting for the other shoe to drop._

“I mean it,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You must have worked incredibly hard for those.”

“Well, I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 but...college isn’t friendly to 12-year-old high school graduates.”

I gave him an empathetic grimace.

“Sometimes it’s not the course load that’s the hard part of college.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t a student though.”

I pressed my lips together, looking down at my hands.

“Not anymore,” I said shortly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, but it sounded like he was reading out of a book. I didn’t really mind. People don’t understand, they can’t, not really. 

“I’m working to go back.” I don’t know why I said it, why I told him. It wasn’t any of his business, but for some reason I wanted Spencer to know I didn’t drop out because I screwed around, I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.

“Everyone has their own pace,” Spencer said. “At least, that’s what my mom told me.”

I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I gave him a small smile that I hoped wasn’t as sad as I suddenly felt.

“My mom told me something similar,” I found myself admitting. “Run your own damn race, she told me.”

Spencer tilted his head, as if asking me to explain. His eyes were fixed on me, I felt almost shy about being the complete focus of his attention, but I also had a feeling that anything Spencer did was the absolute center of his focus.

“It means that everyone has a race they’re running,” I said. “And you should focus on yours, not anyone else’s. If you focus on someone else’s race you’ll probably trip while trying to run your own. If...if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Spencer assured with a small smile. 

“Heh, moms, right?”

I let out a slightly nervous laugh, but something in Spencer’s eyes, an understanding, calmed me.

“Moms,” he agreed with a small smile.

We shared a quiet moment, just looking at each other. His face was too harsh and angular for a man with liquid honey eyes and perfectly curved lips. I wondered where he worked, what stressful career painted dark circles like bruises under his eyes and stripped the softness from him.

“I should close up,” I said finally, regretfully. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Spencer hurried out of his seat, almost knocking over his coffee but deftly catching it before it could tip too far. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I replied, maybe too quickly, as I stood as well. Spencer arched an eyebrow.

“I just-” I started, then exhaled a laugh and looked down at my shoes. “I don’t get to have a conversation with...well, anyone, very often.” 

I twisted my apron tie around my finger three times, then unspireled it. 

“I don’t really talk with anyone outside of work,” Spencer admitted. He didn’t seem upset about it, it was simply a fact of his existence. 

“That’s kinda sad,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth right after. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, hand returning to harassing my apron ties. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer cut me off with a shrug.

_He really doesn’t seem upset, I guess some people are happy that way._

“Well,” I smiled up at him. “If you ever want to talk to someone you don’t work with, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, returning my expression.

“Thanks.”

I noticed how he kept a respectful distance between us, and remembered how he hadn’t offered to shake hands when we swapped names. 

_Touch avoidance._

He seemed to notice everything, and with an eidetic memory he’d remember it all, so I carefully filed this away. Even though I might not be able to compare to him on memory, I could still try and remember something important to someone who had gone out of his way to be nice to me.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked, glancing around the room to make sure I had finished closing.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Great.”

I gave him a bright smile.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the back room to grab my coat and bag. A few moments later I returned, and Spencer was still there. For some reason I had almost expected him to disappear, almost as if he wasn’t ever there.

But there he was, tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan and shuffling in place.

“Ready to go?” I asked, tugging my coat around me. It was old, and too big for me, and frayed at the bottom, and I had to patch the elbows last winter, but it was warm.

_And it was hers._

Every time I pulled the old blue coat on it was like a memory of a hug from my mom.

Spencer nodded.

“ _Andiamo_!” I exclaimed cheerfully. Spencer’s attention perked.

“You speak Italian?”

“A little, you?”

“I’m passable.”

I grinned. 

“I’ve only spoken with you a little, but something tells me you’re a sight more than passable.”

Spencer cracked a smile, ducking his head to hide his pleased expression.

“Maybe I’m closer to fluent, but I’m not there yet.”

I made my way to the door, hitting the lights on my way. The shop fell into darkness, the only illumination the emergency lights and the city ambience outside. 

“It was really nice to meet you, Spencer,” I said earnestly as he joined me on the sidewalk outside. I locked the door and gave it a rattle to make sure it was secure, then turned to him. He tipped the last of his coffee down.

“It was nice to meet you too, Katie.”

“I’ll see you around?”  
“Yeah, probably.”

He raised the now-empty cup.

“You’re the only one who puts enough sugar in,” he joked, and I laughed with him. 

Raising my hand in farewell, I set off to catch the bus and he began walking the other way. Once I reached the corner I glanced back at the tall figure, passing in and out of sight under streetlamps as he drew further away.

 _When was the last time I talked to someone who wasn’t Liz or a coworker?_ I wondered. No time was easily coming to mind and I grimaced. It wasn’t easy to maintain a social life while working three jobs.

 _It’ll be worth it_ , I assured myself, _Friends can come later, I need to do this._

I was dedicated to my goal, and I’d stick to it, but deep down I was hoping to see the handsome Doctor Spencer Reid again. 

_A friendly, casual acquaintance_ . _It’ll be nice to see a friendly face every now and then._

And that’s truly all I hoped for, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you're enjoying Irish Coffee!  
> I haven't written in a while, so it's a bit rough around the edges, but I'm hoping it'll improve as I shake off the rust.  
> Don't you love coffee shop tropes? This one will expand beyond the walls of our little cafe soon, don't worry, but I want to take it slow. The best stories are the ones that take their time being told, I think. (I need to keep telling myself that, because I keep wanting to rush ahead!)  
> All comments are super appreciated and welcome, I honestly go back and reread comments a lot when I'm feeling demotivated.  
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! More to come soon!


	3. Gatorade and Sixth Floor Coffee

_ “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”  _

_ ― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves _

One exhausting week rolled into the next. Spencer didn’t stop by every day, but the days he did I found myself smiling a little easier. He was considerate, always making sure I could clearly read his lips when it was noisy, always patient even when I could tell he had somewhere to be.

When the shop was empty he would linger an extra moment or two, giving me some sort of obscure fact about coffee, cafes, caffeine, or something else tangentially related. I soaked it up like a little knowledge sponge. The way he gestured with his hands when he got excited about what he was saying always put a grin on my face. 

When the shop was busy, with suits shoving in and out, Spencer waited quietly in line and was extra polite when ordering, as if his manners would make up for the harsh and hurried words I was subjected to from others. 

And every time he came in, no matter what time of day, rain or shine, he ordered a large mocha with extra sugar.

By the second week I started noticing him before he walked in. Something caught my eye, maybe it was his cardigans or incessantly mismatched socks, or maybe I was developing a Spencer radar, but I started to have his coffee ready before he reached the counter.

The first time I proudly plunked his order in front of him before he could speak I think I really threw him off. It wasn’t a busy day, and I was already leaning on the counter, allowing myself a little bit of rest. He paused, mouth still open, and tilted his head at the cup. He then pressed his lips together and frowned slightly. Was he disappointed? It certainly looked like it.

“It’s exactly how you like,” I hurried to assure him.

“Thanks,” he replied, slowly taking the cup. I felt my stomach drop as he began to turn away. I had been looking forward to his visit, especially since I hadn't seen him for a few days. Somehow the young doctor always found a way to make me smile. 

“I thought,” I called out after him, stopping his movements, “that it would help to have it ready. You know, so I don’t have to go make it in the middle of talking to you.”

He turned back, frown now bent into a small smile.

"How efficient," he said. I shrugged.

"I like to maximize the good things in life."

Spencer didn't reply right away, instead electing to shyly drop his eyes and take a sip of coffee. His muscles relaxed a little as the hot liquid worked it's magic.

"How have you been enjoying Asimov?" I asked, falling back to a safe subject for both of us: books. Any tension that may have been lingering dissipated as Spencer's eyes lit up.

"Fascinating!" He started, and I settled myself against the counter a little more, perfectly happy to listen. After noticing my hearing aids, Spencer made sure to speak clearly when we conversed, and for the few brief moments I was with him, it was like my hearing had never started to degenerate at all.

"Psychohistory as a concept alone is fascinating, and when applied to a well developed futuristic universe it practically crafts the story by itself. The field itself only really became recognized when Lloyd deMause developed a formal approach to apply to the study of psychobiology, history, and social dynamics. Even that was fairly recently; deMause is still an influential figure in the field today."

Without fail, whenever Spencer stopped in, I learned something. The information, the passion with which he presented it, everything down to his soft, first-year philosophy professor look had me longing to go back to school. Listening to Spencer teach, whether it was conscious or not on his part, was like sips of water in the desert.

I wondered what he did for work, if he taught at one of the colleges. He was skittish about the subject, the first time I asked about his work he dodged the question, and any time the conversation had neared the subject again he'd start to clam up, avoid eye contact, and worry at his bag or cardigan sleeve.

_ If he doesn't want to talk about it he doesn't want to talk about it,  _ I reasoned finally.  _ Lord knows there's enough secret jobs in this city, why would he take a break from work for coffee just to talk about work with a random barista? _

So I had dropped the subject, and our talks flowed around books and philosophy and whatever tidbits of trivia were on his mind that day.

Unfortunately, our discussion was brought to a quick conclusion when another customer entered, sending the bell above the door swinging with an annoying tone that ensured I always had a low-level headache.

I stood and exchanged a small wave with Spencer. Even the way he waved, hand low, arm tucked into his side, made me smile. When he left he was careful not to rip the door open, the bell barely moved as he slipped away. 

We continued like that for a time, but as fall turned towards winter, I found myself struggling to get out of bed in the morning. Exhaustion weighted my limbs before I even got to work, and even the heaviest concealer couldn’t cover the bruise-like shadows beneath my eyes. Whereas before I would tidy the shop during lulls, I now had to pause to catch my breath after rushes, as if every customer took what little energy I had with them. My Spencer radar didn’t go off for days at a time, sometimes almost an entire week would pass before he would stop in. I felt foolish for looking forward to a regular so much, but I couldn’t help myself. I enjoyed his company, even though I knew he probably didn’t give me a second thought once he was outside the shop doors. 

It had been one of the longer stretches since Spencer visited when I woke up in the middle of the night, head aching and throat raw. 

_ It was bound to happen eventually, _ I thought, dragging myself across my studio apartment and getting a glass of water. Even the simple liquid hurt to swallow.

I winced and returned to bed, grabbing my phone. Flipping it open, I navigated to the two numbers I needed and sent a message to my bosses for both the coffee shop and the diner. Surely they couldn’t begrudge me a single sick day.

Attempting another sip of water, I burrowed back into my blankets and slipped into a restless sleep.

**Spencer**

A few hours later, in another part of the city…

Spencer found mornings difficult, especially since he was left only with crappy sixth floor coffee until lunch. The team had handled back to back cases that left him drained and a pile of files towering on each member’s desk. 

“Morning,” Morgan greeted as his younger associate stepped off the elevator. Spencer gave him a noncommittal noise and a nod, beelining for the bullpen’s coffee maker.

Prentiss glanced up, sharing a look with Morgan, and they both shrugged. 

“I don’t know how you can drink this stuff,” Prentiss said, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “Why don’t you just stop for coffee before you come in?”

Spencer kept his eyes on the cup into which he was stirring spoonful after spoonful of sugar. 

“I go out for coffee in the afternoon,” he replied evenly. Prentiss and Morgan exchanged another look, with the other man joining Prentiss and Spencer at the counter.

“Yeah, we noticed,” he said. “Must be really good coffee, in the years you’ve worked here you never used to go further than the cafe at the corner.”

Prentiss nodded in agreement. “And yet, you haven’t been there in two, three weeks, have you?”

Spencer turned, coffee held close to his chest as he looked between his coworkers.

“I thought there was a permanent moratorium on inter-unit profiling,” he frowned, lips drawn together in a slight pout.

“Not profiling,” Prentiss smiled.

“Just observing,” Morgan agreed.

“Hmph,” Spencer huffed, heading for his desk.

“So, you gonna take your favorite coworkers to your new go-to coffee spot?” Morgan called after him.

“I dunno,” Spencer replied, flipping open the first pile of his stack. “I’ll ask Hotch and JJ.”

“Oooh,” Morgan clutched a hand to his chest, as if injured, face drawn in overdramatic pain. “That hurts, Pretty Boy.”

The target of his teasing, however, was already working through the files before him. Morgan sighed, no more excuses available to keep him from doing the same.

At precisely 2:15pm, Spencer stood and gathered his things. He could feel Morgan and Prentiss studying him as he unclipped the gun holstered on his hip and carefully set the weapon in his bag. Slinging the strap over his head he settled it on his opposite shoulder, grabbed his scarf, and looped it around his neck.

“Off for coffee?” Prentiss asked, tone dripping with innocence.

“Yup,” Spencer replied shortly. “See you in a bit.”

“See ya,” she replied.

As the elevator doors slid shut before him, Spencer watched Prentiss slide her chair over to Morgan’s desk. They ducked their heads together, undoubtedly gossiping about Spencer’s mysterious new favorite coffee shop.

They were surprised, then, when he returned in almost half the usual time with no coffee in hand.

“Hey, kid,” Morgan leaned towards the small wall separating their desks. “You didn’t let our teasing stop you from getting your coffee, did you?”

“What?” Spencer looked up, as if Morgan had interrupted him in deep thought. Morgan raised one thick eyebrow. 

“Where’s your coffee?” Morgan asked. Spencer frowned slightly.

“Didn’t feel like it today.”

Morgan glanced towards Prentiss, who tilted her head. He raised and dropped one shoulder.

There was no way they could know that Spencer had hurried a few blocks down from the office, whether subconsciously speeding his steps or not. Neither Morgan nor Prentiss could realize the way Spencer looked through the window to the counter, ready to smile at the sight of a blonde barista with a tall mocha in her hand. They couldn’t know the way his stomach dropped and shoulders drooped when there was no bright blonde with a ready smile and sparkling hazel eyes behind the counter that day. Instead there was a stranger, a young man with annoyance written on his face. A cloud passed in front of the weak fall sun and before Spencer realized it he was walking back to the BAU. His mind was far away, wondering what would cause a break in such a strict routine. 

He hadn’t known Katie very long, but she was friendly, and she listened—really listened—when he spoke. She was so different from his world, so unusual, and yet so absolutely normal. There was much he knew about her: her determination, her punishing schedule, her devotion to cheerfulness, but there was so much more he didn’t know and wanted to find out, if only out of an academic curiosity to understand how and why she did what she did. Why she seemed to perk up when she spotted him on the sidewalk outside, why she let him ramble on far after anyone else would have told him to shut up. 

And why, why wasn’t she at the coffee shop?

_ Because she has a life, _ the little voice inside his head mocked.  _ Because you are a customer who is nice to her and it is her job to keep you coming back for overpriced DC coffee. _

Shaking his head, Spencer tried to put her out of his mind and steeled himself for the inevitable tag team teasing that Morgan and Prentiss would subject him to.

**Katie**

I groaned curses at the sun as it found a gap in my curtains, slicing through my dark room as easily as any blade. 

Rolling over, the red LEDs of my clock told me it was far past time to attempt a shower and food, sick or not. I couldn’t really afford to be so late taking my meds, but I hoped perhaps it would be an okay day and I could slip a few extra hours past my vertigo.

No such luck. I sat up slowly and the room tipped around me. It was a combination of floating and spinning while drunk, and it sent me stumbling to the bathroom on flimsy legs. It was like I had downed a bottle of jack and chased it with that soda from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory that made people fly. 

I almost overshot the toilet but an iron grip on the cold porcelain kept me anchored as I heaved. There was nothing to throw up, but my body hadn’t gotten the message. Nearly twenty minutes passed before I allowed myself to slump back on the tile floor, sweat sticking hair to my forehead and the back of my neck. 

It was like I was on a teacup ride at the fair and it was slow at the moment, but could speed up again at any moment. I just prayed I’d be able to handle it when it did.

Somewhere in the other room my phone buzzed. I hadn’t thought to grab it in my mad rush for the bathroom, and at the moment I didn’t think I had the strength to retrieve it. It wasn’t hard to run through the people who might be contacting me. The only options were one of my bosses or Liz, and I didn’t feel like talking to them at the moment.

_ You can’t just isolate yourself when things get hard. _

The voice in my head sounded a lot like my therapist from school. I sighed deeply, frustrated and tired, tipping my head back to rest on the glass around my shower.

“Right, shower,” I muttered. That was what I had originally intended to do when I got up. Moving slowly and carefully, breathing to steady myself, I flopped into the small tub and turned the shower on full spray, letting the water pepper across my skin.

Eventually I stripped off the tank top and shorts I had slept in, leaving them in a sodden heap near the drain, and grabbed the soap, scrubbing myself until the water started to run cold. After I was clean and all the soap suds had swirled down the drain I shut off the water and cautiously stood, white-knuckling the support bar I had installed in the shower after my first fall. 

The room didn’t want to stay still, but it had stopped rotating enough for me to step out of the shower, make my way to the towel rack, and wrap myself in a large, fluffy towel. 

Water dripped from my body as I padded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, leaving wet footprints trailing the wooden floor behind me. I pulled a frosty gatorade from my fridge and a sleeve of saltines from my cabinet. Setting the sustenance on my bedside table, I dried off enough to keep my sheets dry and climbed back into bed, not bothering with pajamas this time.

Thankfully, I was able to keep some of the bland crackers and alarmingly blue liquid down. I downed my medication and sunk back into my pillows, even the little I had accomplished that day taking all my energy. 

Hopeful that I’d wake with the cold gone and my meds working, I began to doze, and the dozing deepened into a dreamless sleep.

My one sick day stretched into two, then three. Fighting one disease was hard enough, and it intensified even the smallest infection from an annoyance into a massive burden. On the third day my phone rang. The conversation with my boss from the diner was quick and professional. I understood that he needed reliable employees, but I had hoped the fact that I was never late and always gave as much notice as possible for my sick days as possible would buy me some leeway.

Apparently not.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I snapped my phone shut.

_ It’s okay _ , I reasoned.  _ I can pick up more shifts at the cafe and the bar. They’ve always paid better anyway. _

Resting my head against the wall I studied my ceiling.

“What do I do, mom?” I whispered, closing my eyes.

_ “Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.” _

Emily Dickinson had been one of my mother’s favorites, and it was her voice I heard.

_ Right _ , I thought, steeling myself.  _ What doors haven’t I tried yet? _

Dragging my laptop onto my lap took more effort than perhaps it should have, but I managed it. 

_ Scholarships _ . 

Now that I had a full time work record to back me up, I might qualify for more money. And if I qualified for enough I could take the next step, instead of being stuck running in circles trying to earn enough over three jobs to pay for college by myself.

The sun had long since set on my third sick day when I finally shut my laptop and let sleep claim me once more. I now had a small spark of something to go with the stubborn determination my mother had instilled in me: hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you are enjoying Irish Coffee. I'm planning for things to ramp up a bit soon, but I figured there's no reason to rush. Please let me know how you liked the chapter!  
> ❤️


	4. Triple Shot Espresso

_ "I felt it shelter to speak to you." _

_ -Emily Dickinson _

The sun dawned on my fourth day off work, and my late alarm roused me. Somehow I woke up tired and rested at the same time. Shooting my boss at the coffee shop a quick text, I hopped in the shower. Sure, another day off might be nice, but I couldn't really afford it if I wanted to stay on track with my plan, plus losing my diner job was still fresh in my mind.

It took less than an hour from my alarm going off to the door to my apartment shutting behind me. My coat felt like gauze as gusty winds chased each other down valleys of skyscraping office buildings, so I hurried my steps to the shelter of the coffee shop.

The bittersweet scent of coffee surrounded me as soon as I opened the door, pulling me in like hands tugging at my sleeves. My eyes fluttered shut for a moment as I basked in the cosy warmth. After missing it for a few days the smell of fresh coffee was heady, and I could almost taste it. It pulled me back to a hazy memory of the sun streaming through tall windows and laughing with my mom, teasing each other about how we liked our drinks. I had always drank mine black, but she poured enough creamer and sugar in to turn the dark liquid almost white. 

I opened my eyes and smiled a little, holding onto the image as I nodded to the boy at the counter. Evan gave me a short nod back, clearly displeased with his current situation as he served the woman in front of him.

Even though I was a little early, I still dropped off my things in the back room and slipped on my apron. It was easy to fall into the motions of making drinks and packaging baked goods, supporting Evan while he handled the orders. I enjoyed working in the back, close enough to give the customers a smile with their snacks but far enough to not have to converse with them. 

_ If only we could justify keeping two people on all the time, _ I thought, handing the next customer their boxed up bearclaw with a smile and a nod. However much I wished, I knew the owner couldn’t afford it. We weren’t close, but she had been a friend of my mother’s, and I was sure that’s how I still had this job. 

After an hour of handling customers, the torrent of bodies pouring through the doors slowed to a trickle, and Evan grumpily took his leave. I made my short rounds of the tables, ensuring everyone was settled and happy, and then hurried back to the counter. Propped up on a short stool so it was out of sight of anyone coming through the door, my laptop hummed to life.

I quickly lost myself in the world of scholarship applications. I did qualify for more now that I’ve been working longer, and the notepad open on my screen was populating nicely with links and notes on what scholarships I should apply to and what each required. So absorbed I was in my work I almost missed the annoying ring of the bell above the door.

Thankfully, the awful, high pitched sound was seared into my brain, and before I had even consciously processed it I was standing with a picture-perfect customer service smile on my face. A man and a woman entered the shop, looking around curiously as if they were expecting a surprise.

“Hi!” I greeted, cheerfully. “How can I help you two?”

The man, an imposing, muscular specimen with no hair but eyebrows to make up for it, turned towards me. As soon as his dark eyes fell on me he not-so-subtly elbowed the woman beside him. She was just as imposing, with straight black hair and an “I operate within the law but just  _ barely _ ” vibe. Despite the fact that they both looked like they could snap me like a twig I didn’t sense anything dangerous about them. A second cursory glance revealed they both had weapons on one hip and government-issue IDs on the other, and I nodded to myself. 

_ Knew it. _

The man approached the counter first, with a swagger in his step and a barely-restrained grin on his face. The woman was half a stride behind, looking for all the world like she was physically restraining her eyes from rolling.

“Hey,” the man said, flashing a bright smile. “When did they let such pretty girls work here? Am I really so out of touch with my local cafes?”

I returned the smile. Years of customer-facing jobs had quickly taught me how to weed creeps who flirt with women on the job out from guys joking around. This guy struck me as a jokester, so I was happy to play along.

“Looks like it, maybe you’ll have to come by more often to make sure they keep me around,” I replied. The woman made an exaggerated gag expression. 

“Sorry about him,” she said in a conspiratorial tone. “Doesn’t know when to cool his jets.”

I gave her a reassuring wink. “Not a problem. Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Sure can,” she replied, relieved at the thought of caffeine. “I’ll take a triple espresso.”

The man beside her turned to her with one bushy eyebrow raised.

“Trying to get off our next case with a heart attack?” he asked. She scoffed.

“I wish. Just trying to stay awake to get through the consultations.”

“And for you, sir?” I set the espresso to brew and returned to the counter.

“Just a dark roast with a splash of milk, please.”

“Coming right up!”

I could feel two pairs of eyes boring into me as I turned to prep the drinks after accepting payment. A surreptitious glance over my shoulder showed the two whispering, but there was no chance I could hear them over the sound of the machines and the everpresent underlying tone of music and conversation that always filled a coffee shop. 

A few moments later I returned to the two. Their eyes were piercing but they smiled their thanks when I handed over the drinks.

“Funny name,” the woman said, raising her cup to show the shop’s logo. “Just naming your coffee shop ‘Coffee Shop’. Must be hell for branding.”

I shrugged with a chuckle, I got comments occasionally about the unusual name.

“Makes it easy to remember at least!” I replied. 

“Guess so,” the woman said, still seemingly perplexed by the name.

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetness,” the man said.

“You’re welcome, have a good afternoon!” I smiled. 

“Thanks,” the woman’s eyes dropped to my nametag. “Katie. Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

They left, heads bent together as they conferred. I shook my head a little. They were a strange pair, but friendly. Maybe they’d be back one day.

**Spencer**

It had been four days since Spencer had gone out for coffee. Yesterday he had tried to go back to his old usual shop, right on the corner, but the music had given him a headache and the coffee was too strong and he hadn’t returned.

Still, he thought about the coffee shop called Coffee Shop every day at 2:15pm. So when Morgan and Prentiss strolled off the elevator at 2:10 holding cups emblazoned with the circular logo he clocked it instantly.

“-coffee’s good too,” Prentiss said, taking a sip from her cup. 

“You’d like anything that had enough caffeine to hype up a horse,” Morgan teased. Prentiss only shrugged with a half smile.

“Perhaps.”

Her eyes flicked to Spencer, who quickly tried to look busy.

“The barista was pretty too,” she said, a little louder than before.

“You can say that again,” Morgan agreed, also glancing at the resident genius. “She was friendly too.”

“Women are always friendly to you.” Prentiss rolled her eyes. 

Spencer’s ears were burning. Was Katie there again? Maybe he should go back, just to see...plus she made damn good coffee. Yeah, the coffee was the reason why he was shoving his things into his bag and pulling a scarf around his neck.

“Where ya going, pretty boy?” Morgan called after him before Spencer even realized he was halfway out of the bullpen. 

“Out for coffee,” came the short reply.

“Oh, we would have got you some,” Prentiss said, raising her cup. “We tried out a new place, it’s pretty good.”

“No, that’s okay,” Spencer said hurriedly. “I like getting my own.” He went to leave, then remembered something and turned back. “Thank you.”

With that he strode purposefully out the glass doors, electing for the stairs instead of the elevator. As the door to the stairwell swung shut, Prentiss and Morgan allowed cheshire-like grins to spread across their faces.

“I’m just glad there’s something that’s getting him out of the office,” Morgan admitted, draining his coffee.

“You don’t think it’s odd that he’s so...I dunno, squirrely about it?” Prentiss asked. 

Morgan shrugged.

“The kid doesn’t have a lot going on in his life. If this is the one thing he decides to keep private for now, I say we let him have it. He needs something.”

“Especially now.”

The two coworkers and friends exchanged a sober look as they sat at their desks. It was a few moments before one broke the silence.

“They’d be cute together,” Prentiss said, not looking up from the file she was perusing. Morgan glanced up with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied, then returned to his own paperwork. “I just hope she’s ready for our boy genius.”

“Ready for him?” Prentiss almost scoffed. “Has he ever been in a relationship? Maybe we need to help him get ready for her.”

“Relationship might be hoping for a bit much, I just hope she doesn’t hurt him.”

“I hope so too, but honestly, I hope he gives her the opportunity.”

Morgan looked up sharply at Prentiss’ words.

“Why would you say that?” he demanded. Prentiss made a soothing hand motion.

“Because it means he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable to someone outside of the team.”

Morgan’s tense shoulders relaxed a little and he nodded slowly.

“That’ll be the day.”

“Mm, you said it.”

The two bent their heads again, diving back into work. A few blocks away, Spencer nervously fiddled with the strap on his messenger bag.

He was stopped just before the coffee shop windows. He wasn’t sure why he was stopped, only that he was anxious for some reason. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and glanced to the counter before he could stop himself.

Katie was leaning on the counter, propped up on her elbows. Her long, golden ponytail flopped over her shoulder. Eyes fixed on a small yellow notepad in front of her, she tapped a pencil against her lips, thinking. 

Spencer pushed the shop door open carefully, so as not to send the bell above the door swinging wildly. He had noticed her winces of annoyance when other customers carelessly shoved their way in. 

Still, it made a small noise as he entered, and she looked up quickly. As her grey eyes met his, a smile broke across her face like the sun piercing through cloud cover on a rainy day. Spencer matched her expression instantly. 

“Spencer! You’re back!” She exclaimed happily, setting her pad and pencil aside. Spencer felt his chest tighten a little, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so genuinely happy to see him.

“I could say the same for you,” he replied. Katie nodded, twisting a corner of her mouth apologetically. 

“I was sick, sorry. I hope you were able to find a decent caffeine fix while I was gone.”

She had been sick, of course. Spencer scolded himself for not thinking of the obvious answer sooner.

“Let’s just say I’m really glad you’re back,” he replied, and Katie laughed.

“I could say the same for you,” she parrotted his earlier words with a twinkle in her eye. 

  
  


**Katie**

I felt almost giddy when Spencer walked into the shop. Perhaps it was a sign I needed to get out more, but I enjoyed his company and conversation so much that I couldn’t help it. We bantered for a moment. Watching him smile was like a breath of fresh air, not only after the days alone in my apartment, but after a morning of grumpy customers. It didn’t hurt that he had one of the greatest smiles I’ve ever seen. We laughed as I made his coffee, and when I handed it over he took an appreciative sip.

“Scholarships?” he asked, nodded to the notepad on the counter beside me. I quirked an eyebrow, and he blushed a little.

“Sorry, I can read upside down, I kinda saw before I knew what I was looking at.”

I gave him a reassuring smile.

“No apologies necessary,” I replied, pulling the pad towards me. “Scholarships indeed.”

I scanned down the list of names, amounts, and deadlines.

“Where are you hoping to go?” He asked. I sighed.

“Honestly, wherever I can afford.”

“Dream school,” he countered, and I smiled down at the paper.

“George Washington,” I admitted. “I’ll never make it, though.”

Spencer’s eyebrows drew together, wrinkling his forehead.

“Why?”

I shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. 

_ Of course he can’t understand. He probably had colleges tripping over themselves to give him full-rides. _

“I’m a pretty good student but GWU is picky,” I explained. “Plus they’re expensive. No way I’ll get enough of an offer from them to be able to swing it.”

I sighed, encroaching anxiety worrying at the corners of my mind.

“I’ll probably just have to move.”

“Where would you go?” Spencer sounded a bit sad as he asked.

“I’m not sure...New York, probably. Or Virginia. Wherever I can afford.”

“You don’t want to leave.”

It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded.

“I really don’t. I have an apartment in the District, I like working here.”

I let out a big sigh, dropping my head onto my hands where they rested on the counter. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I don’t want to leave but if I stay I’m stuck. I have to move forward, ya know?”

I looked up to find a surprising amount of sympathy in his amber eyes.

“Keep at it,” he encouraged. “You’ll find a way.”

The smile I gave him was small and weak, but it was the best I could manage with the impossibility of my situation hanging over me.

“Thanks, Spencer.”

I stood, shaking my head at myself.

“Look at me, rambling on. You come in for your coffee and I just talk your ear off about my problems, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied hurriedly. “I’m always the one talking your ear off, I’m happy to listen.”

“Yeah, but I actually like hearing about what you have to say,” I chuckled, slipping the notepad under the counter.

“You do?” He seemed confused by the prospect.

“Yeah,” I looked up to find him frowning at his coffee. “You’re the best part of my day.”

The words left my lips unbidden and a blush quickly spread across my face.

“Sorry, that sounded weird,” I backpedaled. “I just mean-”

“You’re the best part of my day too,” he cut me off. His own cheeks were red and he was looking anywhere but at me. I felt butterflies start to flutter in my stomach.

“I am?”

He nodded, apparently mute in sudden embarrassment. 

_ I haven’t made a friend in so long, _ I thought, blinking shyly and dropping my eyes to my fingers nervously twisting around each other.  _ What if I mess this up? _

My mother’s gentle voice sounded in my head, quoting Emily Dickenson once more.

_ “The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.” _

_ An ecstatic experience might be a little dramatic, mom. But...maybe this could be a good one. Maybe this is the silver lining to losing my diner job. _

“Do you want to get coffee after work?” I blurted out. The sudden break in silence startled Spencer and he looked up. 

“Coffee?”

My rush of confidence was quickly fading.

“Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t have to be coffee. And it’s not a date or anything, don’t worry.”

_ As if someone like him would ever go out with someone like me. _

“I just…” I took a deep breath and forged forward. “I get off at eight and I thought it might be nice to talk while sitting down. If you want. We don’t have to.”

I fell quiet, studying his face carefully, but his expression was unreadable. Hopefully I hadn’t just scared him off…

“Sure, yeah,” he said finally.

I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding and smiled.

“Cool! So...if you want to stop by at eight, I know a nice tea shop nearby that does good coffee too, and they’re open late.”

He seemed to be warming to the idea, nodding as I spoke.

“Alright, eight it is.”

I tried not to smile too wide.

_ Damn, act like you’ve been there, Katie, _ I scolded myself.  _ Making a new friend is something people do every day. _

Spencer glanced at his watch.   
“I should be getting back,” he said, regret tinging his tone. 

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” I replied. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later,” he repeated, raising a hand in farewell and slipping out the door. I looked at the clock above the door as it closed behind him.

_ 2:30. It’s going to be a long shift. _


	5. Dark 'n Stormy

_“All the universe laboured to bring us together. The rest is up to us.”_

_-Beau Taplin_

The hours of my shift crawled by. The sun slowly inched behind the Lincoln memorial, turning the reflecting pool into molten gold. As the sun fell, so did the amount of people passing through the coffee shop doors. We were a daytime shop, catering to the busy and powerful who left city limits at 5pm. No point staying up to catch the sporadic patronage of lost tourists and drunks.

The shop was spick and span by 7:30. At 7:55 I flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ to deter any last minute customers. At exactly 8pm I had my bag packed and my coat on, bouncing on the balls of my feet in nervous excitement.

At 8:10 I pulled out my phone to call and realized I didn’t have Spencer’s number.

At 8:20 my bag was slumped on the floor by my feet as I sat at a table, watching the second hand tick by on the clock.

At 8:30 I pulled out my laptop and tried to do some more scholarship research, but my heart wasn’t in it. Every small noise or flash of movement had me scanning the windows.

At 8:45 I finally called it, slipping my laptop into my bag and hitting the lights, locking the shop door securely behind me.

My feet dragged a bit more than usual as I walked my usual route to the corner. The bus pulled up with a huff of a sigh that mirrored my own feelings and an unfamiliar driver greeted me as I boarded.

_ Right, now that I don’t work at the diner I guess I won’t be seeing Connie as much,  _ I thought. As childish as it was, I felt like pouting. I lost my job, the only place I got to see Liz, who was my only friend. And even with that title we weren’t especially close. I had always been too busy to hang out, and so we had just enjoyed each other’s company when we were scheduled together. 

With a start, I reviewed my entire social circle. 

_ Shit...I don’t think I have any friends, _ I realized. 

Everyone I had known in high school was long gone. My mom had some friends that occasionally checked in on me, but I knew that was more for her than any care they felt towards me. Friends from college disappeared pretty much as soon as I started failing my courses, distancing themselves from the sad, lonely girl who couldn’t pull it together. Liz and I didn’t even especially know each other. Hell, Connie was probably the most friendly person in my life.

_ Before Spencer, _ my mind provided helpfully. I scowled at the floor. Not that I was especially angry at him, but I felt foolish for believing we had struck up any sort of friendship during our chats, and that feeling was only compounded by waiting 45 minutes for him to show up.

_ Not like I have anything else to do, _ I sighed. It felt strange, getting off work and just...going home. For two years I had run from shift to shift, I hadn’t stopped to think about how alone I was. How alone I had been ever since my mom died.

_ When did that happen, mom?  _ I asked.  _ How did I get to a point where I look up and realize there’s no one? _

Before, even when there had been no one, there had been my mom.

The ride to my apartment was short, almost unnecessarily so, but I figured riding would be safer than walking dark streets alone. I stepped off the bus as it stopped, adjusting the strap of my heavy bag and turning my coat collar up against the cold. It didn’t take long to get to my building and let myself in. In front of my apartment’s door I hesitated, key in the lock, and glanced behind me.

_ I don’t even know my neighbor. _

Shaking the increasingly depressing thoughts from my mind, I let myself into my apartment, locking the door behind me.

It was like I was looking at everything with new eyes. The apartment was dim, the dusty curtains pulled tight and undisturbed for years. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever actually opened them. The apartment was clean, I made sure of that, but very few personal touches brightened the space. Boxes from my old college dorm were still stacked in the corner, I hadn’t noticed them in so long they’d just become another part of the shadowy landscape. 

“This is just sad,” I said out loud to myself. 

_ Maybe losing one of my jobs was just the kick in the ass I needed,  _ I thought, striding across the small studio space.  _ I’ve been a zombie for years, mom would be horrified. Yeah, I need to get into college, but I need to live my life too! _

With that, I threw open the curtains in front of the floor-to-ceiling window opposite my front door. Clouds of dust exploded in the air, sending me into a gut-wrenching coughing fit. When it subsided I straightened and looked out the window.

Rows of townhouses fell away down the street, giving way to a tree-lined boulevard. Even at this hour I could see headlights crawling along the street. Further in the distance rose office buildings and then, towering in the blue middle-distance, the Washington Monument pierced the sky, a red light blinking at its zenith. 

“Damn, mom,” I breathed, the city before me sparkling with a thousand lights. “You really know how to pick a view.”

The scene before me was captivating, as if I was seeing it for the first time. Crawling into bed now seemed like a waste, besides, my internal clock was used to working until 2am. I set my kettle to boil and moved cautiously to the boxes in the corner labeled “Katie’s Dorm”. 

“Cmon, I know you’re here somewhere,” I muttered to myself, shifting the boxes until I found what I was looking for. 

Dragging my prize from beneath a precarious cardboard stack, I beat it a bit to get the dust off and plopped it in front of the window. Then, pouring my tea, I grabbed my laptop and settled in. 

The old beanbag molded around me just like it had back when homework and sorority rushes were my biggest concerns. I took a sip of chamomile tea and let out a long breath. When was the last time I had rested without being sick? When was the last time I had appreciated the view?

_ I promise it won’t happen again, mom, _ I thought, eyes following a low-flying plane taking off from DCA.  _ I’ll get into college, but I’ll figure out how to have a life, too _ . 

The few stars I could see twinkled down at me as I finished my tea and watched the city go by.

The next day was Tuesday and I awoke more rested than I had felt in...well, as long as I could remember, honestly. I hummed to myself in the shower and pulled the curtains wide open after I dressed.

_ Hmm, definitely gotta give this place a dusting when I get home _ , I thought, wrinkling my nose at the fine particles rotating in the sunlight. 

Despite my depressing thoughts from the night before I found myself walking with a bounce in my step.

_ I wonder how much longer I would have killed myself over my jobs if I hadn’t lost one? _

Now that I’d had time to process the loss I could definitively say I was happy to be free from my weeknight commitment. 

_ Maybe I’ll actually go out some night. _

I greeted Evan with a big smile which had exactly zero impact on his ever-dour mood. Clocking in, I slipped on my apron and got to work.

The day passed quickly, but I found myself growing anxious as 2pm drew closer. 

_ What do I say if he comes in? _

By the time the clock read 2:15 I was practically holding my breath at each ring of the bell above the door. However, no scruffy doctor passed underneath it, and as time passed I realized he wasn’t coming in today.

_ Do I even want him to? _ I wondered as I closed the shop.  _ He did kinda stand me up...not that it was a date. It was just...a friend get-together. A friendly coffee. A getting-to-know-you-as-a-person-I-would-like-to-befriend-rather-than-just-a-nice-customer coffee. _

I knew the answer even before I asked myself. Of course I would like to see him, he was a bright spot in my day every time he came in and asked for his diabetes-inducing coffee. Maybe I had come on too strong. I pursed my lips to cover a frown and just hoped I hadn’t scared him off for good.

The next few days passed in a blur of activity and improvement. During the day, I worked my shift at Coffee Shop, and in the evening I put on some music or a pirated movie and cleaned my apartment. It was like moving into a whole new place. A list of things I wanted to spruce up or update my little home was pinned to the fridge, and every day I added an item or two. I sorted through the boxes from my dorm, packing most of the things right back away to donate. A few things, though, I kept.

Digging through the last box I found a hand painted wooden box carefully wrapped in an older sweater and tucked down at the bottom. Swirls of gold paint danced across a deep violet background, and I recognized my mothers handiwork instantly.

_ My old jewelry box, _ I realized, swallowing hard in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. Tilting the box up slightly, I saw a white heart made from two fingerprints at the bottom, and the tears came anyways.

_ “Mama, mama!” _

_ I must have been no more than five or six, running towards my mother with craft supplies in my small fists, construction paper flapping like a flag behind me. My mother turned from the box she was unpacking and scooped me up with a big smile. _

_ “Why hello, my little sun!” she exclaimed. “What has you so excited?” _

_ The younger me grinned and waved the paintbrushes triumphantly. _

_ “Paint with me!” _

_ My mother had cleared us a space among the piles of moving boxes and we had painted the afternoon away. After creating many a masterpiece, I had tired of the activity and tried to run off. _

_ “Hang on, mira,” she said, catching my wrist gently. “You can’t leave without signing your work.” _

_ She had taken my chubby index finger and painted the pad white, then done the same to her own. _

_ “Press here,” she said, helping me stamp my fingerprint onto a colorful rendering of the two of us in front of our new house. She then pressed her own finger a little over my print, angled so the two made a lopsided heart. _

_ “Always remember to sign your work with love, Katherine,” she told me with a twinkle in her eye. _

I felt a droplet hit my hand and I blinked, causing more tears to fall as I realized I was back in the present. No one but the dark and empty sky could see me as I huddled on the floor with the jewelry box hugged close to my chest as I cried.

It took a while before my tears were depleted. I felt drained, as if I had just worked a double shift and then ran home, and salty trails were beginning to dry on my cheeks. Slumped back against my bed, I cracked open the jewelry box to find a delicate silver bracelet with a knot tied in the metal. At the center of the tie was a single, small sapphire. I slipped on the bracelet, the metal cold against my wrist, and snapped the closure shut. It fit perfectly.

"Thanks, mom," I whispered. 

With that, I decided I had done enough tidying for the night. I set the jewelry box carefully on the floor, tucked away where I wouldn't step on it, and crawled into bed. Normally I wouldn't be able to fall asleep so early, but sleep came easier than usual, and before long I was dreaming of sunny days and my mother's laugh.

I awoke on Friday squinting through swollen eyes and with a deep sigh. The bracelet on my wrist sparkled in the sunlight streaming through my window, catching the light and reflecting it onto the ceiling above me. It only left my wrist briefly when I showered, and I slipped it back on as I dressed. While trying to choose between the black sweater and the green sweater, my phone buzzed. It was my boss from the bar, asking if I could cover an hour or so, as her second bartender would be later and one of her bussers called out. I replied letting her know I’d be there as soon as I could after closing the coffee shop. 

I dressed in my usual dark jeans and chunky knit oversized sweater (I chose green), but into my bag I tucked a longsleeved black shirt, lipstick, and mascara. The walk to Coffee Shop was quick and brisk, as it should be at the end of November. Grey clouds promised eventual rain, but they were high in the sky and weak sunlight streamed down between them, so I felt safe in my decision to forgo a bulky umbrella today.

The cold weather brought in more customers than usual, and I was kept busy pretty much my entire shift. It was only when the last patron left I realized that Spencer hadn’t stopped by again.

_ He sometimes doesn’t come in for a few days, _ I tried to reassure myself as I cleaned the espresso machine.  _ I probably haven’t messed it all up. Probably. Hopefully… _

Promptly at 8, I shut the door behind me, locked it firmly, and started off down the street. Now that the streets had been plunged into darkness, the cold wormed its way beneath my jacket and through my boots, quickly chilling me to the bone. No bus route ran the right way to give me an escape from the temperature, so there was nothing to do but hunch my shoulders and hurry.

After a few blocks of mostly empty streets and dark office buildings, the towering structures around me began to shrink and glow with light and life. People spilled onto the street from bars and restaurants, chatter and laughter floating on the frigid air. Different smells tumbled over each other: Indian curry from one restaurant, greasy burgers from the next, Thai peanut sauce wafting from across the street. 

I turned a corner and hurried into the next building, a brick building with round yellow lights strung across the awning and a cheerful red neon sign that read “Curtains”. 

The bar was already crowded, with a cacophony of rowdy conversations drowning out the football game on tvs around the edges of the room. I winced, squeezing past a group of girls all dolled up and making my way to the Staff Only door. As I passed the bar I threw a quick wave to Reymand, the other bartender, who was somehow flirting with three girls at once while making a mean dark ‘n stormy. 

The door swung shut behind me, dampening some of the noise, and I breathed in relief. 

_ It’s gonna be a long night, _ I thought, already tired. I gave myself a moment to wallow in self pity, then I stopped slouching by the door and made my way to the staff bathroom. One quick change later, I had transformed from a cozy barista to a sleek bartender. 

Gone was my comfy oversized sweater, replaced by a fitted long sleeve black shirt tucked into my black jeans. I wrapped my ponytail up into a fluffy bun and applied a little lipstick and mascara. Smacking my lips together to spread the red stain evenly, I couldn’t stall anymore and made my way to the bar.

“Hey, Kat!” Reymand greeted as I sidled up next to him. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Rey,” I replied, smiling at the man approaching the bar. “It’s going, how ‘bout you?”

“Same here.”

And with that we both turned to the customers filtering around the bar. I cracked beers, poured drafts, and mixed drinks blindly as I kept my eyes scanning the faces of the customers closest to me, checking for anyone trying to get my attention over the din of a Friday night. Occasionally, if I missed something, Reymand would tap my shoulder on a pass, helping draw my attention in the right direction. Eventually the crowd began to thin.

“Hey, can you bus some tables before you leave?” Reymand asked as he passed. “We’re getting overwhelmed.”

“No problem,” I replied, grabbing a tub and heading to the nearest empty table. It was a welcome break, I could feel a headache beginning to throb behind my temples. 

_ Almost done, _ I reassured myself.

When I reached a table near the back, away from the chatter and music, I set the tub down for a moment. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of my nose. 

“Hey, uh, headache again?”

A soft, familiar voice cut into my thoughts. I jerked my head up, eyes wide. Standing before me, looking absolutely done in and on edge, was Spencer. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and there was a day or two of scruff around his chin.

“Spencer!” I straightened in surprise. “You’re...you’re here.”

“Yeah…” he couldn’t meet my eyes, his gaze flicking around the room. His hands were stuffed into his trouser pockets.

“...what are you doing here?” I prompted, slightly concerned.

_ Please don’t be a stalker, please don’t be a stalker, please don’t- _

He looked up as if he could read my thoughts.

“I’m here with my...coworkers. I didn’t know you’d be here, I swear,” he said quickly.

I glanced over his shoulder. Sitting a few tables away was a group that looked like they were trying really hard not to stare at us. I recognized the two intimidating government agents from the coffee shop a while back.

_ What does Spencer do to work with them? _

Two serious-looking men and two blondes rounded out the group. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” I said with a tight smile. 

I turned back to the table, starting to gather the glasses and bottles.

“Katie, wait,” Spencer stopped me and I looked back, cautious. He seemed to struggle for every word.

_ Whatever he does, it takes everything out of him, that’s for sure. _

“I...I’m sorry,” he said. “For not showing up. I wanted to, I did. My job...it takes me away at odd hours and with little to no notice. I didn’t realize I couldn’t let you know until I was already on the jet.”

_ He gets a jet for work? Talk about a company vehicle. _

I felt my tense posture relax a little, and I gave him a small, genuine smile.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” I said. “It’s DC, I should have realized.”

A small frown wrinkled his forehead.

“What did you think happened?”

I finished wiping down the table and shrugged, picking up the tub and propping it on my hip. 

“Honestly, I thought I came on way too strong and scared you off.”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck nervously. A few strands of hair fell in front of his face, brushing down the sharp line of his jaw.

“No, you didn’t,” he reassured. “I, uh, I mean, if the offer still stands, I’d like to take you up on it. For coffee. If you want to.”

I smiled, he was bashful and sweet and I was secretly very relieved I hadn’t messed our potential friendship up.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“When do you get off?” He asked. I glanced at the clock above the bar.

“As soon as I put this in the back,” I replied, nodding to the dishes I was carrying.

“Do you...if you don’t have plans-”

I decided to put the poor boy out of his misery.

“I don’t have plans, and I’d love to get coffee with you, Spencer,” I said, cutting him off.

He swallowed in relief, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“What about your coworkers, though?” I asked. He glanced back. The group were starting to get their coats and scarves on.

“Hey, Spencer,” the dark-skinned man called out, raising a hand. “We’re gonna head out, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Spencer replied, raising his hand in return.

The group headed to the exit, chatting animatedly. One of them, a man with a serious expression and greying hair, turned back. He nodded to Spencer, and I thought I saw a twinkle in his eye. Then they were out the door into the night.

“Well, that answers that,” I smiled. “Give me two minutes.”

He nodded, shuffling back towards the wall. I noticed how he placed himself near a corner where he could see the whole bar. Something in his expression was haunted. Maybe it was the way he never stopped scanning the crowd, or the way his jaw clenched every now and then, but whatever had happened over the past few days had him in a bad way. I pursed my lips and hurried into the back.

“Hey Rey, I’m headed out!” I shouted.

Rey poked his head into the back. 

“Thanks for filling in! See ya around,” he replied. I grabbed my things and strode back out. Spencer was right where I left him, but he had donned his own coat, gloves, and scarf.

“Ready?” I asked. He nodded, and I led the way out into the cold night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter ^_^ I've started posting the chapters over on my tumblr (sighspencer) so if you'd prefer to read on tumblr you can look over there. All kudos, comments, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated! I have several arcs plotted out for Spencer and Katie, and I'm excited to see what you all think as we progress.


	6. Decaf Tea

_ “There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.” _

_ -P.G. Woodhouse _

In all the time I had known Doctor Spencer Reid, (only a month and a bit, but still) I had never known him to be silent. Quiet, yes. Shy, bashful, even awkward at times, sure. But this shroud of silence wrapped around us like a thick blanket was different. I felt my forehead scrunch in a concerned frown as I studied him.

We were sitting in an old teashop, tucked away in a corner. It was blessedly quiet after the irritating din of the bar. Spencer had his hands wrapped around a mug filled with coffee and was staring into it like he could see the future within those dark depths.

_ Maybe he didn’t actually want to come out, _ I thought.  _ I probably pushed it. _

“Hey,” I started, my voice weak and wavering. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Hey, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He looked up like he was surprised I was still there, eyes slightly unfocused for a moment.

“I’m...I’m probably way out of line, here,” I said. I felt like I was edging onto the ledge of a cliff, and one wrong step would send me plummeting. “So, you know, feel free to tell me to screw off or whatever,” I laughed nervously. “But, are you okay?”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying me.

“Why would I tell you to...do that?”

_ Really? That’s what he focuses on? _ I shook my head with a small smile.

“Because you might feel that I’m overstepping the boundaries of our-” I waved a hand between the two of us, unsure if I could call us friends yet. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure where he stood on the matter. I already felt like I had pushed the envelope enough tonight, and our drinks hadn’t even cooled off enough to sip, yet.

“Oh,” he said simply, returning to staring at his coffee.

_ Nice going, Katie. This is suuuper comfortable and not awkward at all. _

I exhaled a small sigh and looked down at my own watery reflection in my tea.

_ Come on, think of something. _

“Two of your coworkers came into Coffee Shop a while back,” I tried.

“I don’t want to talk about them,” he cut me off before I could really get going. Then, almost as an afterthought, “please.”

“No worries.”

More silence and staring into mugs.

_ You idiot, what’s always a safe bet with him? _

“I’ve started reading more,” I started tentatively. 

Spencer looked up, watching me passively with those unreadable brown eyes. A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, it was enough to encourage me forward.

“My weeknights recently freed up a lot, so I’ve been rearranging my apartment. I found some old books packed away.”

“Anything interesting?”

“An anthology of Arabic poetry is my current go-to.”

Spencer nodded, warming to the subject a bit. His shoulders relaxed as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Even the earliest Arabic poetry discovered is refined and highly developed,” he said. “The style and form speaks to centuries of growth.”

“The way the words weave together to paint a picture out of emotions and imagery, it’s beautiful, it’s some of the most evocative writing I’ve ever read. I only wish I could read it in the original Arabic script.”

“You know, Arabic is consistently rated as one of the hardest languages for English speakers to learn, but it actually isn’t too difficult. There are only five basic shapes to the letters, and only three sounds that aren’t found in English. Plus there are only two tenses: past and non-past.”

“Do you know Arabic?” I asked, excitement sparkling in my eyes. Spencer shook his head.

“No, but if I had to learn it I could probably find my way around with a week or so of study.”

“Incredible,” I whispered to myself. 

“Do you speak any languages other than Italian?” Spencer asked, reminding me of one of our first conversations.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even say I speak Italian,” I chuckled. “I just know some Italian. A little Russian too, but I’ve lost most of that over the years.”

“Really, Russian? Where did you learn that?”

I shrugged. “My mom, I think. I remember bits and pieces of her speaking Russian to me, but she stopped when I was little, and told me not to speak it so I could focus on English.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, but it wasn’t suffocating like before. It was calm and companionable. I savored my peppermint tea, enjoying the biting scent and the warmth settling through my body. 

“My mother read to me,” Spencer volunteered. He spoke so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him. He seemed to realize this a moment later, clearing his throat and raising his voice slightly.

“She, uh, she was sick a lot when I was growing up. But she always made sure she read to me.”

I nodded, content to listen. In all the short conversations we’d had at the coffee shop, Spencer had remained intensely private, and I had quickly decided not to pry. Books and reading had become our safe middle ground, neutral, but still something we both loved.

“When I was five we read One Thousand and One Nights. She had this way of reading...she didn’t simplify anything or do voices, but she read aloud almost as if she were reading to herself, and I was just along for the ride.”

“That sounds really nice,” I said softly.

Spencer swallowed, blinking into his coffee.

“Yeah.”

Our conversation floated from one tangential subject to another, never resting anywhere for long, always remaining safe and neutral. Spencer didn’t say anything else about his mom or his childhood, and I didn’t ask. Eventually, our mugs were empty and the silence had spread longer than our other pauses. 

“You know,” I said, hesitantly. “This was really nice.”

_ Don’t mess this up, Katie. _

Nodding, Spencer traced a knot of wood in the table without looking up at me. Right as I was sure he was trying to figure out a way to tell me to leave him alone, he spoke.

“Thank you.”

I had been expecting almost anything else. A ‘be seeing you’ brush off, or maybe a more direct ‘don’t contact me again’. Thanks? That hadn’t been a scenario I had considered.

“Y-yeah, you’re welcome,” I stuttered. “Uh, for what?”

He looked up and not for the first time I felt transfixed by his gaze. The way Spencer spoke, moved, thought, everything was with utter focus. When he looked at me, I felt like the rest of the world fell away and he and I were the only ones in existence. I had been captivated by his eyes when they were twinkling with a nerdy literature joke or filled with warmth and calm. I had seen his gaze dulled by exhaustion and blinking with anxiety. But this was new. He looked at me with such sadness and pain that I thought my chest was about to cave in on itself in sympathy. 

Then he blinked, and it was gone, leaving just a tinge of well-concealed panic. His eyes flicked over my face, as if searching for the worry that I knew had shown, and I schooled my expression quickly, although not as skillfully as he had.

“Thank you for talking with me,” he clarified. “When I said I don’t talk to many people outside of work, I meant it.”

“Well, I meant it when I said you were welcome to talk to me,” I said with a smile. “I realized recently that I don’t really have any friends so...it’s nice to talk to someone. Especially someone like you.”

His expression quickly became guarded.

“Someone like me?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know if I totally misread this, and I’m sorry if I did, but...someone who cares. You’re a good listener and you’re honestly just really enjoyable to talk to.”

Spencer frowned, and if he had been anyone else I would have expected him to look for the hidden cameras and the tv show host jumping out to yell ‘ _ Punkd!’ _

“I mean it,” I said softly, giving him a small smile. “Talking to you is the bright spot of my day.”

“What are you worried about misreading?” he asked.

I felt a blush begin to creep across my face and dropped my gaze, wrapping my hands around my empty mug to give them something to do.

“I was kinda hoping we could be friends, but I understand if that crosses a boundary, I know I’m just a barista, but I thought we hit it off a little and...I like spending time with you.”

_ God, it feels like I’m in middle school again. Do adults ask each other to be friends? Is this just something everyone pretends like they grow out of but it’s really just a part of life? _

I was so busy silently berating myself that I almost missed Spencer’s answer. Luckily, I looked up in time to read it on his lips.

“I’d like that.”

We donned our hats and coats and scarves shortly after, and it was all I could do to keep a big grin off my face. Thankfully, I managed to rein it in to a small, bright smile.

_ I made a friend! _ I thought jubiently.  _ A nice friend who likes reading and coffee and tells me philosophy jokes and has the prettiest smile- _

I cut myself off as butterflies started to flutter in my stomach.

_ A  _ **_friend_ ** _ , _ I thought to them firmly, flexing my hand in my glove to get it settled comfortably.

“Thanks for joining me for coffee,” I said, turning to my companion. “I was worried I forced you to come out.”

“You didn’t,” he said simply, then nodded at my mug. “But you can’t really say I joined you for coffee, you had tea.”

I laughed a little, still riding the high from making a friend.

“Funny story there, I don’t actually drink coffee. Or caffeinated tea.”

“But you work in a coffee shop.”

I shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets and rocking back on my feet a little.

“I work at a bar too but I don’t drink alcohol either.”

“Why?”

“Eh, it’s never sat well with me.”

_ We don’t need to go into that right now. _

“It’s kinda funny,” I chuckled as we made our way towards the door. “Given my last name.”

He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Brewer,” I provided.

A small smile spread across his face. 

"Brewer? That’s almost ironic.”

“Tell me about it,” I said jokingly, but he took me up on it and I was perfectly happy with that, too.

“You know, if you drink enough, both caffeine and alcohol have a similar half-life of around four hours. But you wouldn’t want to mix them. Alcohol is a downer and, loosely defined, caffeine is an upper.”

We had reached the door and hesitated, remaining in the warmth and light for a few moments longer.

“So jagerbombs are-”

“-a really bad idea, yes,” he finished for me, and I laughed again.

“If only you had been around when I was graduating high school.”

He shrugged.

“Everyone learns one way or another.”

We stood, facing each other, for a few more moments. I had to tilt my head back to look up at him, he was well above my 5’4” stature. 

“We should do this again,” I said finally, and when he nodded I held out my gloved hand, palm up. Spencer frowned down at my hand and then up at my face.

“Give me your phone,” I explained. “I’ll put my number in it.”

Spencer’s nose wrinkled in displeasure and I almost withdrew my hand but he set the device into it.

“I’m not really big on,” he waved at the flip phone. “Technology.”

I already had it open and was typing my number in.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Me neither. It’s useful, though.”

I pressed call and my own phone began to vibrate. I let it ring a few times, then hung up and returned Spencer’s phone to him.

“There. Just in case, right?”

This seemed to strike a nerve with him and he nodded, tucking the phone away. We were both quiet once again.

_ I’ve always been awkward with goodbyes, _ I thought, trying to think of what to say.

“If I’m in town I’ll come by for coffee tomorrow,” Spencer said, relieving me of the burden. I smiled.

“I’d like that! Hopefully I’ll see you then.” 

He held the door open for me and we both stepped into the freezing night. I pulled my scarf up over my already frozen nose and waved to Spencer, who returned the gesture. Then it was too cold to linger any longer and I hurried to the bus stop, hopping on the first one home.

Before long, I was bustling over my threshold, shedding my coat and other accoutrements like a reptile sheds an old skin. My studio was dark and chilly, so I quickly changed into my pajamas and dove under the covers. My laptop soon joined me, groaning in protest at the amount of tabs I opened as I continued my hunt for scholarship money. It was a few hours before I shut it down, rubbing the glow of the screen from my eyes. 

_ That’s enough of that for tonight, or my next application is just going to be ‘please god, give me money, I just want to go to school’,  _ I thought.

Rearranging my pillows, I snuggled up with a book instead.

Lit by the soft glow of my bedside lamp, I lost myself in pages of Arabic poetry as sleep came to claim me. Bits and pieces of my conversation with Reid came back to me as I traced the lines of ink. I read slowly, interrupted with yawns.

_ “Peaks, gather up the Eagle’s remains _

_ And cast them at the chest of Time.  _

_ No longer does he brush the eyelids of the stars _

_ Proudly with his tousled feathers.” _

My hand obscured the next few lines as my eyelids began to droop.

_ “He has left behind him the cortege of clouds _

_ That billowed down from their enchanted spheres _

_ To enfold him in a dewy, dazzling kiss…” _

My chin slowly dropped to my chest, and I slipped into slumber.

It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a second when my alarm jerked me awake. My neck ached from the odd position I had dozed off in and my book had slipped to the side, pressing into my wrist and marking a red line on my skin.

Running a hand over my face, I got out of bed with a groan and started my morning routine. Another cold day had me almost running to Coffee Shop, my breath puffing out ahead of me like steam from a train.

Saturday was always a little quieter, customers rushing in and out, eager to finish their work and get home to their families. I found myself glancing at the clock more and more as 2pm approached. 

The strains of violins floated across the room, the beginning of a new playlist on our radio, as Spencer pushed open the door and stepped inside. I felt an intense flutter in my stomach as he paused to run his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. 

_ He really is easy on the eyes, _ I thought. It was the only coherent thought I could get out past the excited monologue of  _ friend friend friend I have a friend _ running in circles through my head. 

He looked up to find me grinning at him from behind the counter, his coffee already ready. Striding up, he accepted the coffee with a smile. 

Up close I could see how tired he looked, almost haggard. But there was a more positive air about him, he seemed a little better than he had the night before.

“How do you always have this ready?” he asked gratefully. I studiously averted my gaze from the way his long, strong fingers wrapped around the cup, almost encircling it.

Shrugging in response, I accepted his payment and rang it through, shutting the cash drawer with a bump of my hip.

“It’s not a hard order, and you are a man of habit,” I said. “Which is a good thing, in my book,” I added. He gave me another small, shy smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course!” 

I nodded to the nearest table, it was empty and clean. Only a few people were in the shop and I had checked on them earlier.

“We can sit until another customer comes in if you like.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

I waved away his concerns, taking a seat. He followed my lead.

“I know the owner, she gives me a little leeway. I sometimes have trouble being on my feet for the entire shift, so as long as I take care of customers promptly and no one complains she lets me do as I please.”

“Is that how you get away with having your laptop back there?” Spencer asked innocently.

I opened my mouth in mock shock.

“Me? Use my laptop during my shift? Never.”

Spencer half-rolled his eyes, blowing on his coffee to cool it.

“How’s the scholarship research going?” he asked.

I sighed, slumping a little in my seat and playing with the edge of my long sweater sleeve.

“It’s tough. Some of them I don’t even know what I’m looking at. I spend a few hours applying every day, sometimes it’s like I didn’t lose my third job at all.”

Spencer pondered this for a few minutes.

“Are you an immigrant?” he asked finally. “There could be more money there.”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t claim any of that.”

He studied me at this, and for a moment I almost wanted to squirm under his intense gaze.

“What about first generation student?” he asked, and I breathed a sigh of relief that he had moved on.

“No luck,” I said. “Mom went to school.”

“I know your dream school is George Washington,” he said. “But what do you want to study?”

I could feel my eyes light up, and it was a struggle to stop myself from sitting forward in my chair.

_ Cool it, Katie, _ I scolded myself.

“Art history,” I said, attempting to throttle the excitement in my tone. Spencer’s eyebrows raised a little.

“Really? Why?”

My eyes closed and, for a moment, I was back in the National Gallery with my mother. 

“The earliest surviving artwork is an estimated 40,000 years old,” I said, opening my eyes and watching as he sipped his coffee. “It’s another 35,000 years until humans learn to write. Art is the oldest and most primal form of enduring communication. A photograph might be worth a thousand words, but a painting has to be worth at least ten times that.”

Spencer watched me, an unreadable but not discouraging look in his eye. I kept going before I lost my courage.

“Art tells stories, reveals secrets, records history, and does it all in a way that writing can never convey. Until you see William Holman Hunt’s  _ Lady of Shalott _ in person, there’s no way you can understand how far words fall flat in their attempt to describe her beauty. Until you stand in front of George Stubbs’  _ Whistlejacket _ and have to crane your neck to look into his eye, you can’t realize how incapable words are at capturing the feeling you get in the face of truly great art. For all the books written about the Mona Lisa, nothing compares to standing in front of her seeing that smile.”

I ducked my head, cheeks thoroughly red. I hadn’t talked about art in so long, and now someone had asked, it was like the dam had burst in my head and it’s all I could think about.

“Sorry,” I laughed breathlessly, already lecturing myself. “I got carried away.”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer replied immediately. He was studying me curiously.

“I’ve studied science and human behavior my whole life,” he said. “And I’ve never been able to understand art. I understand it from a materials perspective. I understand it from an economic perspective, and a historical perspective, and a social perspective.”

He set his cup down and looked into my eyes.

“But I think you understand it better than I ever could.”

I shook my head vigorously, my ponytail flopping behind me.

“I failed out of my first semester, I don’t understand anything.”

“I have three PhDs,” Spencer said, glancing at the clock and standing. “And there’s some things that can’t be taught.”

_ Yeah, he’s a genius. What are you? _ A cruel voice mocked me in my head. I couldn’t quite shake it, no matter what I tried, and of course now was the time it chose to rear its head.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” I said, tucking some hair behind my ear and glancing away as I stood. “I’m a dropout. There’s no reason you should be hanging out with me.”

“But you’re not a dropout,” Spencer reasoned. “Not in the traditional sense. You left formal education because you went through a tragedy, and you have every intention of going back. Not only that, but you’re working towards that intention. I’d argue that actually makes you more self motivated and better company than most of the doctors I graduated with.”

After he mentioned tragedy his words went in one ear and out the other.

_ Did I mention what happened?  _ I thought.  _ No, I would have remembered… _

“How did you know?” I asked. He blinked, taken aback at the sudden change in direction.

“Know what?”

“About my mom.”

He softened a little, pressing his lips together as he looked at his shoes.

“Honestly? I made an educated assumption. You talk about your mother exclusively in the past tense, and never mention any activities with her from the past couple years. You’re clearly academically motivated, so...late mother plus love of learning equals not leaving college voluntarily before graduation.”

I nodded, blinking back tears.

“You’re not wrong.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I gave him a watery smile.

“I just...I haven’t really talked about it recently and to hear it all laid out like that-”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer cut in gently. “I should have been more aware.”

“No, no, don’t worry.”

I sniffled and straightened, brushing the hint of tears away with the back of my hand. 

“The last thing I want is to be babied about it. My mom was strong, and she taught me to be strong too. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Spencer opened his mouth, about to say something else, when his phone started buzzing. He quickly fished it from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Hotch, I-” he answered, before he was cut off. 

_ Someone’s getting yelled at, _ I thought sympathetically. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

He shut the phone with a click.

“I’m really sorry,” he said to me. I noticed the much softer tone he used with me compared to his professional demeanor on the phone.

“Don’t be,” I assured. “I’m okay. I’m sorry you got in trouble with your boss.”

“I’ll be going out of town for a few days, maybe a week,” he said as he gathered his things. “I’ll come see you when I get back.”

Despite the tears still pricking at my eyes, I felt my heart lift a little at the thought.

_ He wants to see me when he’s back! _

“Yeah, okay.”

I tried not to sound too excited. 

“I’ll see you then, have fun on your business trip.”

He gave me a wry smile.

“I’m not really in the fun business,” he said, and with that he was gone, his phone ringing again as he left. Once outside he answered, turning and giving me a small wave before hurrying down the street.

His last words looped in my head.

_ “I’m not really in the fun business.” _

I had never seen him with any sort of badge or gun. If his coworkers hadn’t come in armed I could have easily assumed he was a professor or TA. I only wished I could remember what his coworker's badges looked like, but they escaped me.

_ Spencer Reid, _ I thought, staring at the spot where I had last seen him,  _ What business  _ **_are_ ** _ you in? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a doozy! Almost twice the length of previous chapters, but I also think it might be one of the best chapters so far. I hope you all enjoy it. As always, a big thanks to my beta readers!
> 
> The poetry that Katie was reading is from Modern Arabic Poetry: An Anthology, edited by Salma Khadra Jayyusi. It's really beautiful, I recommend checking it out!


	7. Peppermint Mocha (Holiday Special part one)

_"Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful."_

_– Norman Vincent Peale_

While Spencer was away on his mysterious, not-fun business trip, November quietly slipped into December and the first flurries of snow began to fall on the city. Almost overnight, DC was adorned with lights and ribbons. Peppermint and chocolate _everything_ quickly became my main focus at Coffee Shop, and even the government drones who rotated through the doors seemed a little cheerier. They tipped a little better, smiled more, and wished me a merry Christmas.

As much as the holiday spirit reminded me how alone I was, it was also the season my mom and I had always shared, and I felt closer to her than any other time of year. Holding onto that feeling, I played Christmas music almost constantly in my apartment, stringing lights and treating myself to a small tree. 

One night, in a burst of Christmas joy, I dragged a haul of baking ingredients up to my studio and put my poor kitchenette to the test, making fudge and cookies until every countertop (and part of my bed) was covered in trays and plates and cooling racks.

 _Perhaps I didn’t fully think this through,_ I thought, surveying the results of an entire evening of baking as Weezer’s rendition of Silent Night drifted from my laptop speakers. A knock on my door roused me from my thoughts. I shed my batter- and flour-streaked apron and hurried to answer it.

I opened my door and looked up slightly at the figure standing before me. Shiny black hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and the golden sweater she wore made her olive skin glow. In one hand she held a small, red cellophane bag tied with a green ribbon.

“Hi!” she said, a little shyly. “My name’s Isabelle, I’m your neighbor across the hall.”

She turned and indicated her door, which had a cute silver bow beneath the number.

“Hi Isabelle,” I replied, brushing my hand on my jeans to make sure it was clean and holding it out. “I’m Katie.”

She had a warm, firm handshake, and we shared a smile.

“Sorry if my music was too loud,” I said, suddenly realizing that’s probably why she came by. “I can totally turn it down.”

“Oh no, no,” she replied quickly. “Not at all, I barely hear anything, don’t worry.”

She gave me a bright smile, her teeth shining. 

“I actually came by to just introduce myself and spread a little holiday cheer!”

She held out the bag, which looked as though it held two cookies. I accepted gleefully.

“Although,” she continued, peeking behind me, “It looked as though you’re pretty well covered on that front.”

I laughed and stepped aside.

“Thank you so much for the cookies. Would you like to come in?” I offered. 

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude-”

“No intrusion!” I assured her. “Besides, I’d love to give you some cookies in return. Or fudge, if you’d prefer that.”

Her deep green eyes sparkled at the mention of fudge.

“Chocolate?” she asked, and I grinned.

“Is there any other kind?”

Isabelle took me up on my offer, helping me to put a dent in my fudge and cookies while I tidied up. She was sweet and easy to talk to, and we swapped holiday stories and talked about work for an hour or two. I told her about the times when my mother and I would compete to see who could spot the most Christmas trees while we were shopping, and she told me about making latkes with her brothers and sisters. She was 25 and worked as a paralegal at a firm downtown, not too far from Coffee Shop, and was thrilled to learn I worked in an independent cafe nearby.

“I’ll have to come by and try the coffee out sometime!” she declared as she stood to leave, her arms laden with even more treats to take back with her.

“Absolutely!” I said enthusiastically, “You’re welcome any time. And if you ever need anything, feel free to stop by.”

“Same to you,” she replied, and I waved as she made the short crossing to her apartment and let herself in.

 _I think I made another friend, mom,_ I thought as I closed my own door. _It’s a Christmas miracle._

I lingered on my walk to Coffee Shop the next day. Yes, it was cold, and yes, I couldn’t quite feel my nose, but tiny, fluffy flakes of snow drifted down around me and there were lights and santa statues and rich garlands in every store window and it was just so _Christmas_ that I couldn’t help but savor the moment.

Perhaps it was that slightly slowed step that allowed me to spot the punny mug in a bookstore window. It was a white reusable travel mug that stated simply “Myelin really gets on my nerves.”

I grinned and hurried into the shop, knowing exactly who would appreciate such a mug. It wasn’t until I had the gift bag in hand and was walking into Coffee Shop that I stopped to wonder if perhaps it was too soon in our friendship to be buying Spencer a Christmas gift. The worry didn’t ease as the hours passed, and when 2:15 arrived I almost felt relieved that no bundled doctor with tucked back curls passed through the door.

 _Maybe I can return it on the way home,_ I thought with a sigh. Then the bell rang and I looked up and there he was, messy curls and ruddy cheeks and slightly out of breath from jogging down the street.

“You’re back!” I exclaimed, and the relief I had felt at his non-appearance a moment ago morphed into happiness that he was here.

Spencer nodded, approaching the counter as he unwound his scarf from around his neck.

“Just landed,” he said, still a little bit breathless.

“You know, we’re open til 8,” I teased a little, handing him his coffee. (I could probably make it in my sleep by now.)

His cheeks, painted red by the cold, deepened in color a little. 

“Right, sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though, I was just about to assume you weren’t coming today,” I said with a smile, and we moved together to the table nearest the counter.

“And miss this?” He raised his cup a little. “Never.”

I laughed softly, ducking my head a little to try and reign in the big smile I always seemed to wear around him.

“You know,” he said, his tone growing a little more serious, catching my attention, “I, uh, I also hurried because I wanted to give you something.”

I blinked my surprise, tilting my head as I waited for him to continue. Spencer cleared his throat, rummaging through his bag by his feet.

“Right, yes,” he muttered to himself. “Ah, here.”

He straightened, a little more disheveled than a moment ago. In his hand was a folded, slightly crumpled sheet of lined yellow paper. 

“Sorry it’s...yeah.”

He shyly handed the paper over, folding his hands together after I accepted it. Glancing up at him with a curious look, I unfolded and smoothed out the paper.

A few thin, narrow lines were scrawled in the middle of the page.

_George Washington Adult Learner Scholarship_

_Elliot Harris - (202) 994-1002 x03_

_December 10th deadline_

“Spencer...what is this?” I asked, hoping more for an explanation of how and why rather than what (which was fairly obvious).

Spencer shifted in his seat, eyes fixed on his intertwined fingers.

“Well I, um,” He cleared his throat and then the words rushed out, one tumbling over the other. “I was curious and I made a call or two so...it’s a full ride but it’s not listed online and I thought, I hoped it might help, you know? And I hurried because, well,” he indicated the date. “The deadline is coming up and I wanted to make sure you had time to apply. If...if you wanted to. I already checked, you meet the basic qualifications.”

“Spencer,” I breathed. “I don’t know what to say…”

I held the paper gently between my finger prints, as if afraid it would dissolve at the lightest touch. He rubbed the back of his neck shyly. 

“I just hope it’ll help, if you want it.”

“I do, I do, thank you so much.”

All I wanted to do was jump out of my chair and hug him, but I restrained myself to giving him an ear-to-ear grin instead.

“This is amazing, thank you.”

Spencer exhaled a small laugh.

“Thank me when you get it,” he said.

“When?” It was my turn to laugh, a little incredulously. “I think you mean if, and that’s a big if.”

He shrugged one shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re a competent applicant, and with the scholarship not being listed online it means there will be a smaller pool to pick from, which improves your chances. So, perhaps it’s a smaller if than you think it is.”

I carefully folded the paper again, running my fingers over the crisp creases.

“Thank you, Spencer,” I said again. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a small smile.

“Oh!” I exclaimed after a few moments. “As chance would have it, I got you something too!”

Spencer’s brow wrinkled.

“You did?”

“Yeah!”

I pushed my chair back and hurried behind the counter, retrieving the bookshop gift bag from where I had tucked it earlier. I slipped the paper into my bag and returned to the table, setting the bag in front of my doctor friend.

“What’s this?” he asked, still frowning in confusion.

“Call it an early Christmas gift,” I smiled. 

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t be silly, you got me a lead on a really good scholarship. This isn’t anywhere near as useful or thoughtful, but when I saw it I was reminded of you so...Merry Christmas!”

Bewildered, Spencer pulled the few sheets of festive tissue paper out of the top of the bag and lifted the mug from it. His lips moved silently as he read the pun, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You got this for me?” he asked, studying it.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I...hope that’s okay-”

“It’s great,” he cut me off, looking up with a smile that reached his eyes and set them sparkling like amber in the sun. “Thank you, Katie.”

I felt my breath catch when he smiled.

“Y-yeah,” I replied, returning the expression. “Of course. I hope you get use out of it.”

“I will, definitely,” he said, turning the cup over in his big hands. “You know, you have to use a reusable coffee cup between 20 and 100 times for the carbon emissions to balance out, but given how much I drink coffee, that won’t be a problem.”

“Hopefully the pun isn’t too cheesy.”

“No such thing,” he declared. We shared a laugh and chatted a bit more before he had to go. I waved enthusiastically at him through the window as he left.

And so, even though the sun was behind a thin blanketing of grey clouds, the rest of the day was a little brighter.

The next day, December 7th, I made sure to set aside some time in the morning to call the number Spencer had gifted me. I paced my apartment as ring after ring came through the phone, resisting the urge to chew on my nails as my fluffy socks skated across the hardwood.

Finally, right as I was sure I was going to be kicked to voicemail, the line clicked and a deep voice came through.

“Elliot Harris, assistant director of aid and admissions,” he answered. I plopped down onto my bed, frowning as I focused all my attention on following his words.

“Hi, Mr. Harris,” I greeted, clearing my throat quickly to cover the nervous crack in my voice. “My name is Katie Brewer, a friend told me to call and ask about your-”

I referenced the paper in my hand, carefully reading Spencer’s handwriting.

“-your adult learner scholarship?”

“Ms. Brewer, thanks for calling,” Elliot said. “Yes, that’s one of the scholarships we offer here. How can I help?”

I took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m hoping to apply. I know the deadline is coming up, but I still want to get my application in if possible.”

“It might be a bit of a squeeze for you, but it’s definitely possible. The scholarship requires a two to three page essay discussing your opinion on taking time between high school and college. You also have to be over 21 and not enrolled in any formal education in the past 18 months.”

“I can do that,” I said, jotting down the details. “Anything else?”

“Just have your essay on my desk by 4pm of December 10th,” he said.

“Absolutely, it’ll be there.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Brewer?”

“I don’t believe so, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, have a good day.”

“You too.”

My phone beeped as I hung up.

 _Alright, it’s not too long of an essay,_ I thought, blowing a few strands of hair out of my eyes as I tapped my pen on the paper. _I’ll jot down notes today and outline it after work tonight._

And jot down notes I did. In between customers I was at the counter, pen in hand and head bent over a pad of paper, brainstorming ideas in a messy script that paid no heed to the lines across the paper. It was only when the clock ticked over to 2:15 that I looked up, my internal clock nudging me to check for Spencer, as was my habit. 

I caught his eye through the glass door, smiling as he entered. 

“Hey,” I greeted, prepping his drink. “How’s it going?”

Spencer sighed, leaning a hip against the counter.

“So much paperwork,” he replied. “Hotch keeps making me redo parts. Says he can’t read my handwriting.” 

“Apparently bad handwriting is universal for doctors, medical or not,” I said with a teasing smile, accepting his payment for the drink. “Who’s Hotch?”

“My boss-oh, wait!”

He stopped me as I was about to pour his coffee and I looked up to see him digging through his bag. 

“Here,” he said, handing over the mug I had given him yesterday. “Have to start using it to offset those emissions.”

I laughed and took the cup, pouring his coffee and mixing in the sugar.

“I’m just glad you’re actually using it and it’s not one of those gifts that end up shoved into a cupboard.”

“Why wouldn’t I use it? It’s not like I have any other mugs.”

“Really?”

I handed him his drink with raised eyebrows. He shrugged.

“I mean, I have some normal mugs, but not travel mugs. Come to think of it, with the amount of traveling I do, I should probably get some.”

“Happy to start the collection,” I said, smiling. We took our usual seats.

“What’re you working on?” he asked, indicating the scribbled-over pad of paper on the counter with a tilt of his head.

“Scholarship essay,” I replied. “I called about it this morning and got all the information. No time to spare.”

“What’s the essay about?”

He sipped his coffee while I leaned back a little, getting comfy.

“They want me to write about my opinion on gap time between high school and college.”

“What is your opinion?”

“See, that’s the thing, I’m not totally sure. For me, it wasn’t really a choice. Part of me wishes I had already graduated and was working in my field, but the other part of me knows that I’ve grown up a lot in the past few years. I’ll be able to focus on my studies without the distraction of ‘college life’.”

I made air quotes around the last two words.

“Why not say that?”

I sighed.

“It’s not really an overarching opinion though, is it? It’s based on my circumstances-my fairly specific circumstances-and I feel like that’s not what they’re looking for.”

“Did they say that?”

“Huh?”

“Did they say that they’re looking for an overall opinion?”

“Well, no, but...I dunno. I don’t want to mess this up. If I get it then I can make the late application deadline and start in January. If I get accepted, of course.”

“Maybe they’re looking for a specific experience, but left it open for overall opinions too,” Spencer suggested, sipping his coffee.

“Is it worth the risk?”

Spencer’s eyes found mine over the rim of his travel mug, and he held my gaze as he finished drinking and set the mug down.

“That’s up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for Christmas. I know it's not even Thanksgiving in real life right now but this is where the fic ended up, and besides, holiday spirit. As always, a big thank you to my beta readers, and also to all you wonderful people who read and kudos and comment, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Part two will be up soon ;)


	8. The Fork

_"People understand me so poorly that they don't even understand my complaint about them not understanding me."_

_-Soren Kierkegaard_

_...in short, taking time off of school to grow and mature into a more fully fledged adult has not only allowed me to appreciate the importance of education, but given me time to develop as a member of society. My time in the workplace has redoubled my motivation to get my degree and go on to work in my field. I understand the value of hard work, money, and education far better than I did at eighteen, and I look forward to applying my work ethic to academia. _

Heaving a sigh, I tapped the key for the final period of my essay. It clocked in at three pages exactly—I had never really been one for putting in the bare minimum. Besides, once I got going the challenge was to limit myself to only three pages.

I intertwined my fingers and stretched my arms over my head, arching my back a little to work out the stiffness from sitting hunched over my laptop for the past few hours. Blinking, I realized the sun had set while I was writing. The blue glow of my laptop and the hazy, diffused illumination of the city from my window cast my room in an almost ethereal light. The sky was clear tonight, blinking lights on plane wingtips standing in for stars that had long been drowned out by light pollution. Suspended in a blue velvet field, the moon was just visible at the corner of my window.

“It’s beautiful tonight, mom,” I whispered.

I wondered if she had ever spent a night here, watching the city slow from its usual frantic pace as the commuters returned to homes in other states. Unprompted, Spencer’s voice came to mind.

_ “You know, DC more than doubles in population during work hours.” _

I don’t remember how we had got on the subject, but he had been happy to continue when I raised a curious eyebrow at him.

_ “It’s not even one of the ten biggest cities in the United States. During the day, the District of Columbia has a population of 1,046,036, but the nighttime population is only 584,400. That’s a 79% increase,”  _ he had added helpfully.

I smiled at the memory. Spencer’s head was full of so much information just begging to be shared. He may not be a professor, but he should be.

_ Maybe he can help me with editing my essay, _ I thought, then shook the idea from my head.  _ He’s helped far and away enough. I need to do this on my own. _

It wasn’t that I would refuse help, but my whole life I had been fiercely independent, and that wasn’t about to change. Spencer had given me the opportunity to apply to a really good scholarship, but I would either land it on my own merits or not at all.

Knowing that I had to sleep on my essay before editing it, I shut down my laptop and turned to my bookshelf.

After going through my old college things I had cleared the boxes out, donating most of it. That had given me space to line a whole wall beside my bed with Ikea bookshelves. Only about a third of the shelves held anything, but I was slowly filling them with gems I uncovered at second hand bookstores after work. 

Plucking a thin volume from my stack of new and unread books, I snuggled down into my blankets and began to read.

_ Whatever I put in these empty rooms _

_ They are still these empty rooms _

The next day was unremarkable in every way. Customers came and went, with more tourists and visitors now that the White House had opened for its Christmas tours. I recommended coffee, provided directions, and dished up pastries all with a smile. The holiday spirit was infectious, and I was reveling in it. 

Spencer didn’t appear that day and I caught my mind wandering him as 2pm came and went. Where was he? Did he work internationally or stay within the US? What was he doing? Did he take his mug with him, was the coffee okay wherever he was?

I tried not to think about him too much, as if he’d know when he got back that I spent my break remembering our conversations and thinking about what we’d talk about when he came back. Maybe I’d tell him about decorating my apartment, or bring him some cookies.

I edited my essay that evening and printed it on my dusty, forgotten InkJet. Together with a cover letter that included my identifying information and an application to George Washington, I set it on my table, ready for the morning. I almost couldn’t sleep that night, anxiety and excitement twisting in my stomach.

I was up before my alarm, unable to remain in bed any longer.

_ Try and chill a bit, _ I told myself as I picked out a nice sweater and a pair of dark trousers.  _ There’s no guarantee. This is just a chance. A really good chance. A chance that could help you get your life back on track… _

I triple checked everything before I left the door.

_ Essay, application, wallet, keys, phone...okay, let’s go. _

The cold air hit me like a wall as I exited my apartment building. Tugging my coat a little tighter around me, I hurried down the road. Today I passed the bus stop; my usual bus wouldn’t be there for another few hours yet. Another block and I was at the metro stop, streams of people flowing up and down the steps. I wrinkled my nose and dove down into the dank warmth of the underground.

_ Ew, ew, ew, don’t touch me, don’t touch me- _

I tried to make myself as small as possible as I hurried through. The subway ride didn't take long, and by the time the commuters were settling at their desks I was back above ground, taking a deep, grateful breath of the crisp winter air.

Elliot Harris was in a meeting when I arrived at the Marvin Center, so I dropped my scholarship application with his secretary and stepped back out onto the street. George Washington University sprawled over a half dozen city blocks, and even though it was only a mile and a half from Coffee Shop, it felt like a world away. Instead of tall, imposing, grey buildings that rose into the heavens, the buildings were brick and concrete, ringed in grass and flower beds with curved roofs that bumped against the clouds scudding across the sky. I wandered down the street a bit, stopping by a bus stop and observing a handful of students hurry across the open green, darting from building to building, ping-ponging between warmth. As I watched, a robin fluttered down to settle on the skeletal branches of a tree nearby, causing the twigs to sway slightly.

_ “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.” _

My mother’s voice came to mind, quoting Emily Dickinson again.

_ Hope, _ I realized, recognizing the light feeling in my chest. 

I floated on that feeling for the rest of the day, but as one day turned into the next that hope morphed and twisted into anxiety.

_ You can’t possibly think you deserve this _ , I thought at myself the day of the scholarship announcement. I had just taken over for Evan, and even though my hands were busy my mind was a million miles away. 

_ You flunked out of school and you think you’re just going to get a free redo? _

My hands shook a little with every frappuccino and peppermint mocha I made. My smile felt plastic on my face, and my feet couldn’t quite manage to find a steady footing. I found myself clinging to the counters as I moved through my job on muscle memory alone. 

Finally, around two, the crowds lessened and I was finally able to take a seat, breathing deeply as I pressed my palms flat to the table.

_ You’re okay, you’re okay, _ I reassured myself.  _ You’re fine. _

With a vibrating buzz, my phone shook across the table between my hands. I frowned at the chunky device.

_ Liz stopped talking to me after I got fired from the diner, I’m here at Coffee Shop, so it’s probably the bar asking me to cover, _ I thought, flipping it open.

ONE NEW MESSAGE - SPENCER

_ Spencer? _

**Spencer**

A little bit earlier, in Houston.

“Let’s get a list of residents who’ve been kicked out of their homes by the gentrification,” Gideon said, getting a nod from Hotch. He then turned to Prentiss. “You and Reid check the shelters?”

“Yeah, we’re on it,” she replied, standing. “Unless...you okay with that, Reid?”

Spencer frowned, bristling at the hidden implications.

“I’m fine with that,” he replied, perhaps a bit more snappy than he had intended. The construction noise outside had jumpstarted a pounding headache that was making it difficult for him to focus.

_ Although, it’s not just the headache, _ a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. He shoved it aside. Grabbing his bag, he followed Prentiss out the door. Part of him was glad to be out from under the concerned, watchful eyes of his team. A bigger part of him was irritated at the thought of being stuck in Houston construction traffic with the newest member of the team.

“So…” Emily started, fingers drumming tunelessly on the wheel as she pulled into an inching line of vehicles. “Everything okay?”

The headache was behind Spencer’s eyes, radiating throughout his head. It felt like his skull was vibrating.

“Yeah, fine,” he said shortly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

The question came out as accusatory and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Being terse with everyone was just going to raise more questions and bring more scrutiny, but he couldn’t help it.

“Just asking,” Emily said with forced nonchalance. A heavy silence stretched between them, one Spencer wasn’t inclined to break. As busy as his mind was, as much as he tried to focus on the case, he kept circling back around to the half-empty vial he had purposefully left sitting on his bedside table at home.

_ Not on a case, _ he repeated to himself over and over, a desperate mantra. His fingers twitched with the overwhelming urge to scratch at his arm. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he sighed. It was only 1pm, but he needed something,  _ anything _ to help him focus. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, running through his usual routine. Usually the withdrawal didn’t hit him so hard, but usually he wasn’t stuck in traffic with Emily Prentiss whose watchful gaze made him feel like a bug on a microscope slide. 

Then it hit him.

_ Right, hour time difference. I’d usually be getting coffee right now. _

And by coffee, he really knew he meant he’d be seeing Katie.

He hadn’t noticed when it happened, when he started looking forward to his daily visits to Coffee Shop more for the company than the coffee. All he knew was that Katie, bright, sunny, positive Katie with her dreams of studying art history and her love of learning, well, everything, had become a steadying touchstone for him. 

She always greeted him with a genuine smile that shone with a light all her own. She listened when he rambled and encouraged him when his insecurities began to emerge. She was caring and kind and  _ pure _ . It was like she lived in another world, one without the horrors and monsters he saw every day.

That was why Spencer tore himself away every afternoon, even though he knew his teammates wouldn’t begrudge him a longer break. That was why he didn’t invite her to grab lunch before her shift, or dinner after, or to join him at the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood art exhibit at the National Gallery. She was pure, and he was broken, and he feared if he got any closer, if he told her about his job or allowed the team to meet her, that he would break her. That he would be the reason she stopped smiling, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that.

“...Reid?”

Emily’s voice sounded distant. He opened his eyes to find the car parked in front of an unassuming building.

“We’re here,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. Spencer nodded, doing the same.

“Give me a second,” he said. “I have to send a text.”

Emily raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing. Fishing his phone from his slacks, Spencer frowned as he slowly navigated to the number he was looking for.

She had become his touchstone, and despite his hatred of technology and frustration with himself at the time it took to send such a simple message, he struggled through. Knowing her, even in the arms-length way he did, he knew she would be nervous today. Her worries weren’t about a skilled serial killer roaming the city of Houston, but instead on the selection process for a scholarship that could change her life, for that he was glad. He felt selfish for inserting himself into her day, but he needed something to steady him as his world span around him. She wouldn’t begrudge him this, she was too nice, of that he was sure.

Spencer clicked send and snapped his phone shut, nodding to Emily. They walked into the shelter together and, though he still felt on edge and was struggling to focus, a small corner of his mind was a little more at peace.

**Katie**

I quickly opened the message, confused and trying to tamp down the way my heart jumped at his name.

Good luck.

I smiled. It was short and unnecessarily formal for a text, but I could tell that was just the way he was. I quickly typed a reply.

thank you, for everything

Spencer didn’t reply, and I tried to ignore the disappointment that started to creep in. Instead, I reread his text.

Given his reaction when we exchanged numbers, Spencer wasn’t one for any sort of technology. So the fact that he had texted me at all, and especially out of the blue, made me smile down at the small screen.

Thus bolstered, I took a deep breath and returned to work. I would know when I knew, and there was nothing I could do to change the outcome now.

Customers began filtering in more heavily around 4, getting coffee to keep them awake for their commutes home. Of course, in the middle of a complicated double-espresso-caramel-whipped cream-extra-soy-milk order, my phone began to silently ring on the shelf beneath the counter. 

My eyes widened and it was all I could do not to spill the ridiculously full coffee I was holding all over myself. I quickly put a lid on it and handed it over, calling for the next customer.

_ It might not even be them, _ I reasoned in my mind.  _ Could be a telemarketer. _

I had a gut feeling it wasn’t, though.

Despite my spike in anxiety, I served every customer efficiently, my years of barista experience making up for the moments when my mind turned back to my phone, which was lit up with one new voicemail.

It wasn’t until hours later, when I closed and locked the door of Coffee Shop behind me and hunched my shoulders up against the chilly night, that I was able to call my voicemail. I held my breath as the robotic voice told me I had one new message.

_ “Hi, this is Elliot Harris from George Washington University. You’ll be getting an official letter in the next few days, but I wanted to call and be the first to congratulate you on being this year’s Adult Learner Scholarship recipient-” _

I let out my breath in a joyful whoop that bounced between the buildings and up into the sky.

I was going back to school!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday Special part 2 is next! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think! Sorry it took a bit longer than usual, writers block was really rearing it's ugly head this week. I have finals so the next chapter may take a while, but I'll be done with school in about a week. Good luck to all my fellow students out there!
> 
> The poem Katie was reading is from Strawberry Thief by Sara Berkeley


	9. Sparkling Cider

_“Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?”  
― Haruki Murakami_

That night I decided to treat myself. I had been saving to go back to school for so long, and now my life was finally moving forward again, as terrifying as that was.

_ Mom always said that the way to celebrate was with friends and champagne,  _ I thought, balancing the grocery bags as I unlocked my front door.  _ This may not be exactly what you imagined, mom, but sparkling cider is kinda like champagne, right?  _

“Hey, need some help?”

Isabelle’s voice came from behind me, and I looked over my shoulder with a smile. She was dressed to go out, wearing a slightly shimmery gold dress that hugged her torso and flared out by her waist, landing a little bit above the knee.

“Isabelle, hi!” I exclaimed, leaning against my door. “You look fantastic! I’m good, don’t worry. Where are you off to?”

She rolled her eyes a little and walked over, even taller than last time I had met her thanks to a gorgeous pair of white heels.

“Let me unlock the door for you at least,” she reasoned. I surrendered the keys without another word, mentally blaming my weak wrists for my inability to finangle the lock while holding a half dozen heavy bags. 

“There,” she declared, passing the keys back as my door swung open. 

“Thank you so much.”

I groaned in relief as I set the bags down inside my door.

“Gorgeous, funny, and kind,” I sighed. “You’re a dream girl!”

She laughed, eyes crinkling adorably.

“I’m sure my girlfriend agrees!” She replied. “I’m actually on my way to meet her now.”

“Must be some date,” I said, gesturing at her dress with a warm smile. “Have fun!”

“I will.”

Isabelle winked and slipped her hand into a pocket I hadn’t noticed on her skirt. 

“I think she will too,” she continued, opening the small velvet box now in her hands. I gasped.

Inside was a gorgeous opal ring. The oval stone was held in place with delicate leaves sweeping off the golden band. It looked for all the world like someone had captured the heart of the forest and crafted it into a ring.

“Isabelle!” I exclaimed through the hands over my mouth, my eyes wide. “That’s beautiful!”

Isabelle laughed, a little nervously, and snapped the box shut, returning it to her pocket. 

“Thanks,” she said, a blush reddening her cheeks. “I really hope she says yes.”

“Me too,” I enthused, grinning at my neighbor. “Then I’ll have two things to celebrate tonight!”

“What are you celebrating?”

I shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “Nothing as great as true love and a December anniversary date, but I got accepted to GWU today, so that’s what-” I gestured behind me to the grocery bags on the floor. “-all that is for.”

“That’s fantastic!” Isabelle exclaimed, and suddenly I found myself in a tight hug that smelled like roses and cedarwood. “Congratulations, Katie!”

“Right back atchya,” I chuckled, hugging her back.

_ When was the last time I hugged someone? I miss it. _

“I can’t wait to hear how it goes,” I continued as we both broke away from the hug. “I mean, obviously I’m sure she’ll say yes, but I am a  _ sucker _ for all the romantic details.”

Isabelle grinned. “I’ll stop by sometime and tell you all about it.”

“Can’t wait!”

I waved her off as she hurried down the stairs, then turned back to my apartment with my smile still in place. Tonight was a night of celebration.

I danced around my tiny kitchen to a cheesy playlist of love songs as I prepared my dinner. Soon the sharp scent of lemon tempered with rich butter swirled with the music and the warmth exuding from my stove and radiator, creating a delicious, cozy atmosphere. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this happy.

_ Life is moving forward, mom, _ I thought as I plated my dinner.  _ It’s terrifying and exciting and I wish you were here to see it. _

I took a moment, biting my bottom lip to stop the frown threatening my good mood. The music suddenly seemed tinny, the studio too warm, too close. Tears pricked at my eyes.

_ If I stop I won’t ever start again, _ I thought, distantly. Physical movement. That’s what I needed.

Topping off my champagne flute of sparkling apple cider with quick, jerky movements, I grabbed a heavy blanket and slipped out of my apartment.

It wasn’t long ago I had discovered the door to the roof. Someone has left it slightly ajar, which lead to me curiously following a rivulet of rainwater to the breech. The lock was old, and a previous resident had tucked a hairpin on top of the door frame that was worn into shape enough to jiggle the door open. Perhaps it was a security risk I should be concerned about, but for now I was glad of the easy escape.

The cold air filled my lungs and chilled me from the inside out. Drawing my blanket closer around my shoulders, I tucked myself into a corner of the roof, far from the edge. The outcropping my back was pressed against must have been an exhaust for something, because the bricks were warm to the touch and steam drifted lazily into the night sky above me.

While my dinner cooled in my apartment beneath me, I sat on the roof and cried.

Missing my mother, overwhelmed by the pressure I put on myself and my recently highlighted loneliness, and fear of change all crashed together in an outpouring of emotion. I was happy and proud of myself...but there was no one to celebrate with, no one to share sparkling cider and a fancy dinner with.

_ Wait, _ I thought, sniffling.  _ Spencer doesn’t know. Maybe I should text him.  _

After setting my champagne flute down beside me I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned it over in my hands.

_ A text is so impersonal, though. I should call him. _

Before I took time to acknowledge that the real reason I was calling had more to do with a need to talk to another human than anything I was already dialing.

I tucked my knees closer to my chest and pulled the blanket tighter around me as the phone rang, my breath drifting from my lips in barely visible puffs. I had almost decided to throw in the towel and go back downstairs to reheat my dinner when a voice interrupted the repetitive rings.

“Hello?”

Even through the phone his voice was calming, a reassuring reminder that I wasn’t alone. He cared enough to put me in touch with Elliot Harris and to answer when I called. Someone on this earth gave a shit about me, and I was glad it was him.

**Spencer**

The sun had set on the city of Houston but if anything the construction noise outside only got louder. Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. Behind him Hotch, Emily, and JJ were spread across the table, attempting to piece together the case. It would be hours before any of them got some rest. Their voices blurred into each other, crawling in one ear and out the other. If he focused, Spencer knew he could recall every word that had been spoken, his unconscious mind processing and filing them away, but he couldn't summon the effort at the moment.

Someone said something and he turned to find the whole team staring at him, various degrees of concern or annoyance on their faces.

_ You're just an annoyance to them. Better perform, genius, make up for being such a burden. _

The cruel voice in his head sidetracked him for another moment, pinning him under the burning gaze of the profilers.

"What was that?" Spencer asked, summoning all his strength to try and appear normal.

Emily repeated her question about the geographical profile and Spencer provided the information necessary. The young agent then turned to the board, hoping his apparent deep thought would allow him to blend back into the background. A moment later JJ threw out an idea and the team was off again, talking and rustling papers, leaving Spencer to stare unseeingly at the map before him. 

_ You have to pull it together, _ he thought harshly to himself.  _ Stop being such a screw up. Prove your worth or you’ll lose your job and then where will you be? _

A vibration against his hip drew his attention away from his inner monologue. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he wrinkled his eyebrows at the number. 

_ Katie...she’s never called before. Is she alright? _

Before the thought had even fully completed he flipped the phone open and answered.

“Hello?”

“Spencer, hey.”

Spencer felt the tension drain a little from his shoulders. She didn’t sound hurt or distressed. Her voice cracked a little over his name, but that could be anything. He glanced up to see his team members busily pretending not to look at him.

“One sec,” he spoke into the phone and quickly strode to the door, preferring to blend into the hustle and bustle of the precinct office than remain in earshot of his team. His back to a drab wall, he raised the phone to his ear once more.

“Katie, hey,” he said, allowing his eyes to close, blanking out the station and the police officers and just focusing on her. Even the incessant construction noise seemed to fade out a little.

“Am I interrupting? God, I’m sorry, you’re probably out with friends or something and I just called and-”

“You aren’t,” he cut in, stopping her anxious tumble of words. “Not interrupting at all. What’s up?”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised, as if she had forgotten for a moment why she called. “Well, I was going to text but I wanted to tell you properly.”

A dozen terrible suggestions of what she could mean ran through his head. She was moving, she didn’t want to spend time with him anymore, she didn’t get the scholarship, she had lost her job….

Her voice pulled him back to earth a little. He could perfectly picture the small smile on her lips as she spoke.

“I got the scholarship,” she said. “The one you gave me.”

“You did?” 

Spencer couldn’t help but break into a smile of his own. In his mind's eye he could see the way she would do the same, ducking her head and letting her pale gold hair fall in a curtain around her face while her cheeks bloomed the prettiest shade of pink.

“I did!”

There it was, the unrestrained grin in her voice. The profiler let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tilting his head back to rest on the wall behind him.

“Of course you did,” he teased. “I told you that you were a competent applicant.”

“You did,” she ceded with a small laugh. The sound gave him pause. It was happy, relieved, but a little bittersweet too. 

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “It’s all thanks to you.”

“I wasn’t the one who applied. You got that scholarship on your own merit and that’s something to be proud of.”

They sat in contented silence for a few moments.

“Well, I just wanted to call and let you know. Where are you, anyway? It sounds like a warzone.” she joked.

“Houston,” Spencer replied, hanging on her every word. “For a work thing.”

“Another mysterious, not-fun work trip? Hopefully it isn’t too bad.”

Spencer shrugged before he realized she obviously couldn’t see him. 

“It’s not great, but that’s the job. Where are you?”

She blew out a breath.

“I’m on the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Mhm. My apartment building has a nice flat roof. You can’t see many stars from DC but you can watch the planes go by.”

Frowning, Spencer glanced at the clock on the wall across from him.

“It’s almost freezing in DC at this time of night,” he said.

“Oh believe me, I am well aware,” she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m bundled up.”

He spoke before he could stop himself. “Well, make sure you don’t spend too long out there. Prolonged exposure to cold can be dangerous. Your core temperature only has to drop a few degrees before hypothermia becomes a very serious risk.”

She laughed, and this one wasn’t bittersweet at all.

“Doctor’s orders?”

Spencer was relieved that his team was busy and couldn’t see the way his cheeks reddened at her words.

“Doctor’s orders,” he confirmed in a light tone.

“Alright,” she said contentedly. “I should go in and eat anyway.” 

“Yeah, I should get back to work.”

“See you when you’re back?”

“Of course.”

“Sounds good. Bye, Spencer.”

“Bye.”

She hung up and he was left staring at his phone for a moment before snapping it closed. His mind ran over every word, every breath and expression he could extrapolate from their conversation. 

He returned to the conference room in body only, his mind far away on a chilly rooftop in DC. A few moments later JJ entered as well.

“Garcia’s on line one,” she said, perching on the table and pressing a button on the phone. “Go ahead, Penelope.”

Spencer crossed his arms across his body and moved in closer to listen.

“Hola, cowgirls and boys,” came the voice of their technical analyst. “I’ve got the comparison satellite images of the before and after pictures, and I found something. Check it.”

The four profilers leaned in to study the laptop as JJ pulled up the photos.

“Do you see it yet?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah,” Hotch said.

“An SOS,” JJ added. 

“It’s made of debris and other rocky bits of gobbledygook,” Penelope continued. “This is the building where the security guard got killed.”

A truck began to loudly back up somewhere outside the building, drawing Spencer’s attention away. Something was bothering him. Something that Katie had said, and that Penelope had said, and something about all of this, and  _ god _ his headache was back with a vengeance and…

“Wait, guys,” he cut in. “Listen outside.”

They all raised their head as a jackhammer tore into concrete. 

“Chaos. The SOS,” Hotch said, putting the pieces together. 

“He’s a war veteran,” Emily added, eyes widening. Hotch nodded.

“He thinks he’s in a warzone.”

**Katie**

It was Christmas Eve and DC was cold and grey. A few dirty piles of snow in parking lot corners were the only reminders of the fluffy white wonderland that the city had been last week. I had donned an ugly Christmas sweater for my shift at Coffee Shop. The garish, unicorn-riding, candy cane-wielding Santa Claus garnered many a smile as I doled out mitten-shaped cookies and peppermint mochas while humming carols under my breath. 

I had my back to the door, rinsing out a part of the coffee machine, when I heard the bell ring, wincing slightly at the sound.

“Be with you in a moment!” I called. I tapped the filter on the edge of the sink to shake off the extra water droplets and set it to drain, wiping my hands on a paper towel as I turned.

“Spencer!” I exclaimed, giving him the biggest genuine smile I’d worn in days. He raised a hand in greeting, returning a small smile. The bags under his eyes looked like bruises and there was exhaustion in his movements.

“Take a seat,” I said, waving him over to our usual table. “I’ll get your coffee.” 

He nodded and sat down, shoulders slumping. I snagged his mug when he set it out and a moment later it was full of sweet, hot coffee and sitting in front of him.

“Merry Christmas!” I said, taking my own seat across from him.

“Merry Christmas,” he returned, taking a long sip of his drink.

We sat for a moment before I gathered my courage.

“Are you okay, Spencer?”

His eyes flicked up to mine. Their usually clear amber color was clouded and he couldn’t hold my gaze. 

“Mm, yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, staring at the table.

I studied him closer. He was pale, and sweat dotted his forehead. His clothes were rumpled and his hands shook when he lifted the coffee to his lips.

“Want to try again?” I asked. I don’t know what gave me the chutzpah to push him, but there it was.

This time there was a spark of anger in his glance.

“I’m fine,” he reiterated firmly. I narrowed my eyes at him. 

_ If I push him anymore I might lose him, _ I thought, suddenly worried. I didn’t want to lose the one person I really enjoyed spending time with.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to,” I said, then before he could give a snappy retort I continued. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

His mouth, which had opened while he scowled, ready to probably tell me to mind my own business, shut in confusion as he processed the conversational whiplash I had just put him through.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, tilting his head a little.

_ He looks like a lost puppy, _ I thought, lips quirking in a smile I barely buried. I couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when my anger was mostly just my worry and concern for him wearing a trenchcoat. 

“Yeah, silly,” I teased. I felt bad for pushing him, and accusing him of lying. I hoped that a more lighthearted conversation would smooth things over. “You know, Christmas day?”

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I fly out tonight to see my mom.”

“How wonderful!”

I meant it. In our conversations we often spoke of our mothers. I missed mine dearly, and I felt a kindred spirit in Spencer. Even though his mother was alive I felt there was a distance between them, and I held out hope that whatever happened between them wasn’t irreparable. 

Spencer smiled weakly.

“What about you?”

I mirrored his earlier shrug. 

“I’ll probably watch It’s A Wonderful Life on my laptop and stay in my PJs all day. Might take some cookies to my neighbor, she’s Jewish so she said she doesn’t have plans. Maybe we’ll order Chinese.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“More fun than working, that’s for sure. Where’s your mother at?”

“She’s still in Vegas.”

Spencer’s tone tightened as he answered. I was treading on thin ice, I sensed, and so I tried to steer us away. 

“I feel as though I know her, from everything you’ve told me about her. I’d say wish her a Merry Christmas from me, but she has no idea who I am,” I laughed. Spencer raised his eyebrows, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Of course she knows about you.”

I blinked.

“She does?”

“I write her a letter every day. You really think my only non-work friend didn’t make it into my letters?”

I blushed, quickly dropping my eyes and hoping he didn’t notice.

“I hope that’s okay,” Spencer added quickly.

“Yeah, of course!” I hurried to reassure them. “I mean, not to sound like a crazy person, but I talk to my mom sometimes when I’m just puttering around my apartment, so in a way she knows about you too.”

“You tell your mom about me?”

I looked up to see Spencer studying me. It was the most present that he had appeared since he walked in the door.

“Yeah, of course,” I replied softly. “Not to put any undue pressure on you, Spencer, but you and my neighbor are kinda my only friends.”

He smiled shyly, and I rested my hand on the table near him. Not touching him, but almost close enough to feel the heat from his coffee.

“Spencer,” I said, gently. “I’m only asking because I care about you. You can tell me to stop and I’ll leave it alone. But are you sure you’re okay?”

Spencer didn’t look up, instead staring at my hand. Carefully, he extended his pinky from the cup, hesitating for a moment before gently touching it to the side of my finger.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m sick. I’m trying to get better, though.”

He looked up at me through his eyelashes, as if afraid I was going to recoil in disgust.

I felt an ache in my chest. My friend was hurting, and he was almost too scared to even admit it. Slowly hooking my finger around his crooked pinky, I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging look. 

“Can I help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, oh my god. The support last chapter was incredible, thank you so much!! I honestly just read and reread all the lovely comments, I don't think I can put into words how much even little comments mean to me. They were super motivating as I pushed to finish this chapter (which I hope you all liked!)
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long to update, I had finals and then my family came to visit so I was just focused on real life. I'm happy to let you all know I got a 4.0 this semester (full marks/perfect grade for non-American friends) and I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter out before the end of the year! I hope you're all having a wonderful winter/Christmas/Hanukkah season. Much love! <3


	10. Eggnog (Holiday Special part 2)

_ “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” _

_ ― Ernest Hemingway _

Spencer sat quietly at our table when I had to jump up to serve customers, but as soon as the last patron sat down with their drink I was back.

“When’s your flight?” I asked, my brow wrinkled in concern as I watched him. He looked so lost...even though he was almost a foot taller than me he seemed small today, hunched in his chair.

“Five thirty-two,” he replied automatically. “I have to leave my apartment by four pm to get to the airport and through security in time.”

“So you have a little time to hang out.”

He nodded.

“Given travel time between here and my apartment, I have approximately half an hour.”

“Good,” I sat down. His pinky twitched towards me and I hooked mine into his like before. I wasn’t going to push him on physical contact, I knew one touch didn’t mean he was okay with it all of a sudden, but I was happy to have this. His finger was warm from the coffee and it was comforting to know that he trusted me enough to touch me.

“Does your mom know you’re sick?”

He shook his head. 

“She...she’s sick too. I don’t want to worry her.”

I pursed my lips, thinking.

“Does anyone?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped.

“I don’t think so...my friends at work might, but it’s not something we can talk about there or anything.”

_ Now’s not the time to ask what he does, _ I reminded myself, staving off the curiosity that gnawed at me.

“What can I do to help?”

He almost spoke, then shook his head and withdrew his hand, somehow making himself even smaller.

“I shouldn’t have told you, I don’t want to bother you, I’m sorry.”

“Spencer-”

“No, I should go.”

He stood and turned to leave.

“I have Ménière's Disease,” I called after him. A few people at other tables raised their heads in confusion. I gave them tight-lipped smiles and returned my attention to Spencer, who had turned back to me.

“There,” I said. “Now you know I’m sick too.”

Spencer drifted back towards me, shaking his head as he looked for the words.

“I’m sorry but...it’s not the same,” he landed on finally.

“I’d hope not,” I said with a grim smile. “But now you know. I’ve never told anyone because I’ve never had anyone to tell.”

“When did you find out?”

He perched on the edge of his seat.

_ Fine, _ I thought, steeling myself with a deep breath.  _ If this is how I get him to open up, so be it. _

“A few months after my mother passed,” I told him. I had to swallow the emotions that rose in my throat, threatening to choke me. “I, uh, I started getting these dizzy spells. They were really bad. And then…”

I blinked hard. 

_ You aren’t crying, _ I told myself firmly.  _ Pull it together. _

“Then I started losing the hearing in my left ear.”

The statement came out almost as a question, emotion strangling the end into a higher pitch. I glanced away, the persistent ringing I heard growing louder as blood rushed through my ears. 

A gentle touch on my tightly folded hands brought my attention back. Spencer was leaned a little over the table, his fingertips brushing my hand as he looked at me with concern.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, and it sounded as though he was repeating himself.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” I said, straightening my back and giving him a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“I’m not trying to make this about me,” I continued. “I just...you seemed, I don’t know, ashamed? Of being sick? I don’t know, maybe I’m making it all up. But I just wanted to tell you so you know you aren’t alone.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Katie, you aren’t either.”

I couldn’t stop the mirthless laugh that crossed my lips.

“Unfortunately, I very much am. But you, you have your mom, and your coworkers. You don’t talk about them a lot but I can tell you care about them a lot, and I bet they care about you too.”

“You have me.”

I felt my heart stutter for a moment before I pushed the flutter of hope down.

“Spencer,” I shook my head a little. “I’m not about to burden you with this. I just told you so you know you aren’t alone and, I guess, even if it’s not the same, I’m here to listen and I have some kind of understanding.”

He glanced between our hands, still touching softly, and back up to me. 

“You aren’t burdening me. If anything, I’m burdening you, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

I rested the tips of my fingers over his hand, pushing in a little so our fingers were a little intertwined. For a moment I was lost in his gaze, drowning in dark honey.

“You could never be a burden to me, Spencer,” I said quietly. I could see the fear, the shame, the pain mixing in his expression.

“I promise,” I added, moving to hook my pinky around his again. “Pinky promise.”

He watched my movements, the shadow of a smile crossing his face.

“Did you know the pinky promise is commonly thought to have originated in the Japanese tradition of yubikiri?” He spoke quietly, and it was difficult to hear him, but he made sure I could read his lips.

“I didn’t,” I replied.

_ There he is. _

I hadn’t realized how worried I had been until a glimmer of the Spencer I knew resurfaced.

“Tell me more,” I prompted. He looked up with a small smile.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Yubikiri loosely translates to ‘finger cut-off’, and it’s said if you break the promise you have to cut off your pinky.”

“Sounds like a yakuza thing.”

“It might have been.”

“Spencer,” I said, after a moment. “I promise you aren’t a burden to me, and I don’t think you ever will be.”

I squeezed my pinky, still hooked in his.

“Tell you what,” I continued. “After you’re back from seeing your mom, come visit me. We can talk properly, no time limits or unwanted listeners.”

I cleared my throat and the man at the nearest table ducked his head, ears turning red.

“If you want to, of course.”

“I do,” Spencer answered. “I think I’d really like that. As long as you're sure.

I gave him an encouraging smile.

“I am. You’re going to be okay, Spencer. Being sick isn’t the end of the world, I promise, and I’ll help any way I can.”

"Even if it's hard? I...I'm a handful, I'm told."

He looked at me with a mournful gaze that could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. Before answering I took a breath and watched him subconsciously mimic the behavior.

"I've got two hands," I teased gently. His concerned expression didn't waver, and I set my free hand over his lightly, giving him the chance to pull away. He didn't.

"Whatever it takes. I want to help you, Spencer, because that's what friends do."

He nodded slowly and drew in another deep breath. His back was straighter, his eyes a little clearer.

“Looks like it’s about time for you to head out,” I said, glancing at the clock.

“Right."

We both stood. I rocked a little on my feet as Spencer gathered his things. It felt as though we’d gotten over something that had been keeping us apart. I no longer felt like Spencer was a customer I had befriended. He was just my friend, my best friend, even. 

“Have a nice time with your mom,” I said.

“And you with your neighbor,” he replied, tilting his head down a little to study me. “Thank you, Katie.”

“I’ll text you my address,” I answered, waving away his thanks. “And if you need anything you can always text or call me.”

_ Idiot, why would he call you? He’s going to be with his mom. _

Spencer remained blissfully unaware of my critical internal monologue. 

“I will. Merry Christmas, Katie.”

“Merry Christmas, Spencer. Safe travels!”

We exchanged waves and then he was gone, pulling his scarf closer against the chilly breeze. I held a smile until he was out of sight, then let out a deep sigh. 

_ Not exactly the light-hearted Christmas cheer I was hoping to give him, but this was more important. _

I found my mind wandering over the conversation as I returned to cleaning the machines.

_ What does he have?  _ I thought, wiping away the drops of water that had splashed out of the sink.  _ Cancer? He's looked pretty sick sometimes I suppose, but that could just be exhaustion. But other times he seems fine. Maybe it's something chronic, or an autoimmune disease like mine. _

I was pulled away from my musings by a sharp ring on the bell behind me. I took half a moment to scrunch my face in pain and displeasure as the sound shot through my head like an arrow, but when I turned to face the counter I was nothing but smiles.

A younger man, mid-20s perhaps, sheepishly had both hands cupped over the bell as if trying to silence it. I recognized him as the one who had blushed when I caught him listening to my conversation with Spencer.

"Sorry," he gave me an apologetic smile. "Wasn't expecting it to be so loud, but I don't think you could hear me over the sink running."

"Not a problem," I replied, just grateful I wasn't getting chewed out. "What can I get for you?"

"Could I get a bearclaw, please?"

"Sure thing."

The man leaned his elbows on the countertop as I retrieved his pastry. He had tousled, dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that I felt on my back as I worked. 

I studied him for a moment as I rang him up. His suit fit perfectly and looked brand new and  _ expensive _ . A flash of metal at his wrists drew my eye to the slim, stylish watch and brand-name cufflinks. 

Money wasn't unusual in DC, but this much, in Coffee Shop, wasn't common.

_ I hope he tips well,  _ was the selfish thought that crossed my mind. If that made me smile a little bigger to him as I thanked him for his order and handed over his bearclaw, so be it, but it must have worked. 

He lingered after stuffing a $20 bill into the tip jar.

"Any fun plans for tonight?" He asked conversationally.

"Not unless you count a good book and a cup of tea," I replied. He wrinkled his nose a little and my smile, which had almost been genuine, instantly turned to plastic.

"Not really."

Fishing a card out of his pocket, he offered it to me between two fingers. 

_ Even his fingernails are manicured, _ I thought as I took the card. It was simple, black serif text on a white background, but the card was thick and sturdy, the white color creamy, and there wasn't a flaw in the print.

"If you want to do something  _ actually _ fun, text me," he said, flashing me a blinding smile full of straight white teeth. "I'm hosting a Christmas Eve bash, I invited half the college kids in the city."

"Oh, I don't think that's really my scene-"

He cut me off.

"You're cute, you'll fit in perfectly. Just tell your cats not to wait up."

He threw me a wink, as if he just said an inside joke, and returned to his seat. 

"I don't have any cats," I muttered under my breath, turning my back to the storefront so I could scowl down at the card.

_ Chad Maclay, hmph. You aren't all that, you know, _ I thought. I flicked the card into the garbage and, for all the money it must have cost, it was no match for smelly coffee grounds.

The rest of my shift passed quietly. Most regular Coffee Shop patrons were home with their families, enjoying the holidays. Grey skies hung low over the city as I walked home, shivering against the chilly wind. 

Once I was inside my apartment, however, the dismal outdoors were soon forgotten. I had strung Christmas lights haphazardly across my curtain rod and the top of my kitchen cabinets, and they filled my little corner of the world with a warm yellow glow. Michael Buble’s dulcet tones soon rose from my laptop speakers, serenading me with his Christmas classics. I made myself a plate of leftovers from my celebration dinner, humming along as I did so. As much as I tried to focus on the words to Jingle Bells and basking in the Christmas spirit, I kept finding my mind turning to Spencer. He would be on a plane now, on his way to Las Vegas to see his mother.

He clearly cared about her dearly, and I wondered if she was okay. She was sick, and so far away.

_ That must be hard on him, _ I thought, sitting down with a plate of lemon buttered salmon and green beans.  _ She must be very sick, or need specialized care, to be on the other side of the country from him. Or she just likes Vegas. I shouldn’t speculate. _

I couldn’t help but speculate about Spencer, though. Did he sleep through flights, like me? Did he enjoy flying, or just tolerate it? Given how much he flew for work, he must be okay with it, at least.

_ There’s so much I don’t know about him. _

I wondered if our planned time after the holidays would help me unravel more of the mystery surrounding Doctor Spencer Reid. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him until I did something, I opened my phone.

_ Hope your flight was safe,  _ I texted him, then added my address.  _ Let me know if you need anything, see you soon! _

After finishing dinner and washing up I curled up in bed with an anthology of Emily Dickens. My mother always read to me before bed when I was little, and she used to stay with me on Christmas Eve while we waited for Santa together.

It wasn’t long before the words blurred behind a veil of tears.

“I miss you, mom,” I whispered, allowing the tears to roll down my cheeks and drip off my jaw. I didn’t sob. Instead, I just allowed the sadness to sit with me, like an old friend. There was joy in the memories and the past, and hope in the future, but for now, alone on Christmas Eve, there was sadness, and that was okay.

I woke up late the next morning, salty tracks cracking on my skin as I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Wrapping a blanket around me, I padded to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

In contrast to the heavy grey skies of yesterday, the sun had dawned bright and clear today. I could see the tips of a few outdoor Christmas trees down the street in front of some businesses. Before long I was settled in my beanbag chair with a plate of toast and Nutella, a mug of piping hot tea, and my laptop. 

I pressed play, and the prayers of Bedford Falls began as It’s A Wonderful Life started. Popping my medication, I mouthed along to the words each character spoke before taking a sip of tea to down the pills. I could probably recite the whole movie by heart at this point. When I was six my mother put it on to keep me occupied while she cooked dinner, and for some reason, I fell in love. As children are want to do, I demanded to see it again, and she complied. For years we watched it two or three times every Christmas, and by now I knew every word.

Dinnertime rolled around and I loaded a plate with fudge and cookies to carry with me as I stepped across the hall.

“Katie!” Isabelle exclaimed as she opened the door. She was just as resplendent in jeans and a worn graphic tee as in the dress she had worn the night of her engagement. “Perfect timing, I just ordered dinner.”

“And I brought dessert,” I replied with a grin, lifting the plate. Isabelle’s eyes lit up.

“You’re a star, darling. I went through the fudge you gave me so quickly. Athena loved it!”

“Athena?”

I stepped inside and set the plate on Isabelle’s dining table. Her apartment was a mirror of mine, but somehow seemed three times the size. Her decor was light and airy, succulents adorned the center of the table and floating shelves held a small collection of books ranging from fiction and fantasy to how-tos and biographies. A large mirror above her perfectly-made bed helped expand the size of the room. Polaroids of Isabelle and another woman, one with gorgeous natural hair, dark skin, and a bright smile, hung from a string of fairy lights above the mirror.

“Athena,” Isabelle nodded to the photos, a loving smile on her face. “My fiancee!” 

“She’s gorgeous, you two look so happy together!” I clapped my hands together with a big smile. I couldn’t help it, I just love love, and seeing Isabelle in such clear adoration of her girlfriend made me giddy.

“She’s wonderful, you’ll have to meet her sometime!” Isabelle said as she turned to grab plates out of a cupboard. 

“I’d love to!”

“She’s with her family today, or she’d be here.”

I helped arrange the dishes, and a moment later the doorbell rang.

“That must be the food, one sec!”

Isabelle hurried to the door and accepted a massive brown paper bag, handing the delivery person a generous tip. My jaw dropped as she unloaded dish after dish of food from the bag.

“You know you’re only feeding two people, right?” I joked, setting a hot container of beef and broccoli down.

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to make sure we had enough! Plus, I’ll probably live off these leftovers for a week,” she replied, flashing me a smile.

I laughed, and we sat down. 

It was easy to be comfortable around Isabelle. At first I had been intimidated by her, she was gorgeous and accomplished, friendly and kind. But she effortlessly set me at ease, and before long we were swapping dishes and stories like old friends. 

“So, your coffee shop beau is finally coming to visit,” she teased, gesturing at me with her chopsticks.

“He’s not my beau,” I replied, rolling my eyes, but I knew she saw the way my cheeks flushed. “But yes, we’re going to hang out and talk after the holidays. We haven’t really had a chance to have a real conversation or spend real time together yet, except for one time we went to get coffee, and I think he wasn’t feeling well that day.”

Isabelle grew serious for a moment.

“And you feel safe around him? Even not knowing much about him.”

I nodded instantly.

“Absolutely. I don’t know what it is about him, but I just get these feelings about people. He wouldn’t hurt me, I’m sure of that.”

“I’ll be in that night, so if anything happens you know where to find me.”

My heart warmed. 

_ She’s looking out for me. _

“I’ll text you once he leaves, let you know I’m okay, how’s that?”

Isabelle’s eyes sparkled.

“What?” I asked, lips bending upwards in a small, confused smile.

“Why, Katie, are you asking for my number?” She replied, before breaking into laughter. I joined her.

“I suppose I am.”

We swapped phones and entered our contact information. Isabelle then produced a non-alcoholic carton of eggnog, something neither of us had tried before, and we gave it a shot. The rest of the carton was quickly poured down the drain to our exaggerated gagging noises.

After helping her clean up and pack away the copious amount of leftovers, it was time for me to head home.

“Thank you so much for this, Isabelle,” I said, hugging her.

“Of course, it was wonderful. We’ll have to do it again sometime soon, okay?”

“Okay! Maybe I can meet Athena next time, she sounds fantastic.”

“I’ll see what her schedule looks like.”

I waved and took my leave, closing the door behind me, still smiling.

Then I turned to cross the hall to my apartment and my smile dropped. Spencer was slumped against the wall in rumpled clothes, skin pale and clammy.

“Spencer!” I exclaimed, rushing over to him. Without thinking, I looped his arm around my shoulders, bracing to support him. He raised his head slightly, his hair sticking to his forehead, eyes barely open, and said something, mumbled something that I couldn’t hear. 

“What?” I asked, eyebrows drawn tight as I focused on his lips.

“I-I’m sorry,” he slurred. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful friend Jo!! Her wholehearted encouragement and enthusiasm fuels me like nothing else, and so this chapter is for her! Sorry if I broke you, Jo <3
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and a very Happy New Year to you all! I'm excited for what 2021 holds for us!
> 
> Also, I made a cover for this fic! You can see it at my tumblr, sighspencer. I also post about Irish Coffee there too sometimes, and message with my friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Big, huge thank you to my beta readers. Yall are the best!!


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